


Chasing Viktor

by TheMonsterWhoWentEast



Series: The Measure of a Mark [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Almost Drowning, Angry Smol Boy, Angst, Bad Dreams, Different take on the soulmate AU, Drunkenness, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, I don't want to spoil the story :(, Implied termination of marriage due to death of spouse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It's Finished!!!, Late Night Conversations, Lots of Crying, M/M, Nobody shows their marks off, Please don't be mad, Plot Twists, Slow Build, Some reference to Yuri's family, Soul marks are universally accepted as something intimate and secret, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, There is a lot of hurt!!!, There is a plot twist you might not agree with, Viktor with a K, Wedding, Will add tags as I go, but it does get better, could be sleep paralysis, eight types of love, mentions of breakup (background characters), mentions of divorce, potentially triggering content, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 143,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9315233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMonsterWhoWentEast/pseuds/TheMonsterWhoWentEast
Summary: Everyone has a soulmate, so everyone has a mark.Nobody talks about it though, at least not out loud.The mark appears on a random, covert part of your body the moment your soulmate falls in love.Sometimes, you accidentally miss that moment; sometimes, you intentionally do.***Soulmates and soul marks were private, intimate things.He's heard about them in passing, from the hushed voices of his parents, the drunken slurring of his older sister and ballet teacher, and the quiet, but sweet whispers of his friends from the rink. He knows they've had them early on; he knows his skin had been clear for more than two decades.The day Yuuri Katsuki finds his soul mark, he was nursing a throbbing headache and a terrible hangover.





	1. So It Starts

Yuuri never saw Vicchan's body.

Nobody really embalmed pets in Hasetsu (or any place he knew, for that matter), and the inn couldn't hold a western funeral for a dog while waiting for him to come back. Vicchan was definitely more than just a dog, Yuuri thought, but any bitterness towards his family died (much like his dog) before he could set foot on Japanese soil.

It was no one's fault, really; Vicchan was ten years old, ate _katsudon_  scraps almost everyday, and with no child at the inn, had no one to play and exercise with. Not to say Yuuri expected his beloved pet's demise, - Yuuri _believed_  that his dog would live the full fifteen years - but when Mari's call got through the crappy signal at the Sochi Grand Prix Final stadium, everything came crashing down on him.

_'I should have had Mari weigh him every now and then, I should have stopped Mom from feeding him all those stupid_ katsu _the patrons left uneaten, I should have begged Dad to take him on walks more -_ '

Streams of guilt and frustration took no time in pulverizing whatever focus he even had that day, but the pain was nowhere to be found. With a placid face, Yuuri chalked it up to the pressure of his Free Skate finally numbing him, or that he was already in a bad place to start with.

"Yuuri! There is no more time; quick, Christophe Giacometti's skate is ending soon." Came Celestino Cialdini's heavily accented English, and Yuuri couldn't help but relate his Italian coach's voice to spaghetti in red sauce. It was an odd thought, but Yuuri would have thought about _anything_ , as long as he didn't think about the tiny, brown poodle, too small to be left alone in such a big inn. His tiny, brown poodle, who looked like a crumpled but fluffy bath towel in the middle of his bed in Japan every morning. His tiny, brown poodle, who didn't quite make it onto the soft, white mattress for one last time, and opted to sleep on the cold wood flooring instead. His tiny, brown poodle, who couldn't wait a few more days, at the same time, waited five years too long.

***

Yuuri didn't need to see the score to know he'd royally screwed his performance. Every jump turned into a frantic pivot, as if he were avoiding something small, energetic and erratic running around on the ice. The step sequence he'd worked so hard on with his coach morphed from the story he'd been consistently telling since Nationals, through Skate Canada and Trophee de France, to him running after Vicchan, invisible and definitely not there, but still woofing at Yuuri to take him on one last walk. Never mind that the seaside pavement he and Vicchan frequented in his youth was a battered ice rink with too many slices on the surface, that the rare, smiley fishermen turned into the voluminous stadium holding thousands of blank-faced people; Yuuri wanted, _begged_ , to catch up to the brown toy poodle only he could see, scores and whispers be damned.

His legs wobbled as he gave a bow before skating over to Celestino, ignoring the few flowers and dog plush toys that had been tossed to the ice. One dog plush was accidentally tossed in front of him. Yuuri side-stepped, barely avoiding the toy, but not without seeing the familiar brown fluff and shiny black eyes. "Vicchan..." Yuuri muttered, absently picking up the toy, and continued skating to his coach. It felt nothing like a live dog, not without the slobbering and the warm, calming breaths that sometimes smelled like leftovers, but it looked close, _too close_ , that the skater was blameless when his floodgates finally crumbled.

His cheeks were flooded and his body bent in on himself before his scores were even announced. It was his worst performance to date, more than a hundred points behind Viktor Nikiforov, who took first. Yuuri, with his eyes clouded with tears and blind from not wearing his glasses, allowed himself one indulgent look at the silver-haired skating legend, standing on the top podium, Christophe Giacometti to his right and Jean-Jaques Leroy to his left. Viktor was ethereal; the lights hit the top of his head, giving him a halo, with his fuchsia-to-pink transparent tailcoat glistening almost blindingly. Yuuri wondered for a moment if he would have gotten on the podium if Mari had waited to-

He stopped himself before finishing the thought. _'It's no one's fault.'_  He reminded himself, then rescinded,  _'but mine.'_  Standing, Yuuri left to sit on the sidelines, Celestino's hand on his shoulders and soft, Italian words of encouragement ghosting his ears. The English was clear, albeit heavily accented, but Yuuri's mind was putty at this point, unable to understand anything.

At one point, Yuuri found himself surfing the net on his phone, reading both professional and amateur, by-the-minute news about Viktor's newest conquest, and scathingly written rumors about his own retirement, which he had not even thought of yet. Truth be told, retirement never crossed his mind, despite figure skaters having a very short shelf life. Yuuri always thought he'd keep on skating forever, as naive as it sounded, the same way he thought Viktor would keep on skating forever, always a few strides ahead of him.

He thought of Vicchan again (because how could he not? The poodle was his phone wallpaper), his own painful reminder that there was no such thing as forever.

"I need to call my Mom," Yuuri told his coach as he languidly made his way to the men's toilets. His phone bore no messages from home, and he was a bit miffed that nobody was updating him about Vicchan.

_'He's dead, what else do you need to know?'_  He thought bitterly as he locked himself inside a stall. Yuuri plopped onto the toilet carefully, dialing the country code, and then his mother's number. As the phone connected, Yuuri bit his lip, anticipating his mother's overly-sweet reassurances towards his disaster of a Free Skate; she spoke out of nothing but love and pride, but Yuuri couldn't help but feel that he deserved none of that.

The ringing finally cut, and his mother's sweet voice filled his ears.

_"Oh Yuuri! You called!"_

"Uh, yeah, Mom. Hi." Yuuri mumbled awkwardly, suddenly at a loss for words.

_"Your Dad and I were worried about you! Are you okay? How are you feeling?"_

"I guess I'm good." Yuuri whispered, not trusting his voice. There was heat behind his eyes and moisture making its way down his cheeks, and the man knew that if he spoke even just a teeny bit louder, his mother would definitely worry.

_"You don't have to hide yourself, Yuuri,"_  His mother chided softly, successfully making her son choke on a sob. _"We saw your performance, but it didn't look like you were skating, not at all."_

"I-I'm sorry..." Yuuri cried softly, trying his best to sound calm. His mother's voice was carefully guarded, save for the gentleness that defined her, but Yuuri didn't know if she was simply trying to hide her disappointment. He flopped down sixth, after all.

_"You looked like you were playing with Vicchan."_

The dam broke once more, and Yuuri excused himself from the call. The Japanese man let a few sobs slip, immediately silencing himself when he heard soft footsteps padding on the polished tiles.

_'Just go away already,'_  Yuuri groaned to himself, letting out a pathetic whimper here and there. The footsteps seemed to have stopped somewhere near his cubicle, and Yuuri wondered if the man - of course it _had_  to be a man, right? - was in one of the stalls beside his, or, god forbid, in front.

His answer came as a violent kick to the stall door, metal clanging in protest, Yuuri absolutely sure that there would be a dent. _'Did a maniac get in? Oh god, please, I don't want to die here-'_

"Open the goddamn door, idiot!"

The voice was harsh, thick with a Russian accent, but in no way old. Yuuri could pick out the beginnings of puberty, poorly masked by a booming, rage-fueled growl. _'Must be some Russian kid with an early growth spurt and anger management issues,'_  Yuuri thought, expecting a tall, bulky kid to tower over him as he opened the door.

What he was not expecting was being forced to look down at a _tiny_  blonde kid wearing an unfitting scowl. Yuuri had an unfiltered thought that the boy could look really cute if he smiled when it clicked that this specific kid _didn't_  smile, and definitely _didn't_  want to look cute.

_'It's the Russian Punk Yuri Plisetsky!'_  Yuuri thought dumbly as he felt so small all of a sudden. The boy snarled at him, and Yuuri could only wonder what he had done to the blonde. Caught in mid thought, a manicured finger assaulted his nose, and Yuuri, for the life of him, couldn't help but admire how rounded and shiny Yuri's nail was.

"I'll be in the Senior Division next year," the boy began, his voice snarky and most definitely Russian. "We don't need two Yuris; pigs like you should just retire!"

_'Wait, first of all, how dare y-'_

"LOSER!"

And just like that, he was gone, heavy-looking footsteps making not so much as a pitter-patter on the floor.

***

Mari sent him a set of pictures, giving him a choice on how Vicchan's shrine would look like. He didn't really need to decide right away, but Yuuri felt that delaying the construction would be disrespectful to his loyal pet. He morbidly asked to see Vicchan's body, but Mari had enough sense not to take pictures of the dead dog. Yuuri decided, in the long run, that it was for the best.

"Come on, Yuuri!" Celestino chided, mouthing off about sightseeing around Sochi with the Leroys, but Yuuri was too occupied to take note.

_"Yuri!"_

He would have been a fool not to recognize _the_ Viktor Nikiforov's voice. Seeing the skating idol waltz in with his coach and Yuri Plisetsky would definitely have been a treat, if not for the latter's less than tasteful first meeting with him. He settled on looking at Viktor Nikiforov, admiring his alabaster skin, silver hair and blue eyes -

\- blue eyes that were apparently staring back at him.

"A commemorative photo? Sure!" Viktor Nikiforov called, flashing Yuuri his signature smile, beckoning him with a wave.

The Japanese man knew he'd regret it later on - who declines a photo offer with their childhood hero? - but Yuuri blankly turned around and walked out of the stadium lobby. His coach called after him, definitely puzzled as to why he didn't want a picture with Viktor. He heard the Italian man offer Viktor a soft apology before he was out of the building.

***

All he wanted to do was go home and sit in front of Vicchan's new shrine, but Celestino eventually coerced him into attending the banquet, saying something about it being his first social party as a skater and that it shouldn't be missed.

Yuuri actually only had one suit and tie, the one for his university graduation; he wondered if pretending to have forgotten it would have excused him from party, but he knew all too well how friendly Celestino was with the other coaches and skaters, and well, it was better to wear something old but his, than possibly _still_ old and someone else's.

The party was all talk and slow waltzes, a cacophony of mangled and slightly accented English, mixed in with various European and Asian languages. Yuuri's head hurt, and he couldn't find Celestino. The lights were nauseating him, as well as the wafting scents of appetizers and dessert. He really, _really_  wasn't one for parties such as those, and Yuuri was almost ready to find the nearest exit and just excuse himself, until a kind-looking waiter approached him with a flute of champagne.

"Yuuri Katsuki- _san_ , right?" The waiter clarified softly, his thickly-accented English careful, most probably aware of Yuuri's discomfort. Yuuri nodded, gingerly accepting the champagne. "You look uptight; try champagne, you need loosening up."

_'Easy for you to say, you weren't floored by a teenager in the toilets_ ,' Yuuri thought begrudgingly, but smiled at the waiter anyway. Celestino always did say that keeping up appearances was important, not that he had much to uphold.

Taking a sip, Yuuri raised his eyebrow at the surprisingly light and sweet flavor. _'Oh, this is pretty good, tastes just like some high-quality juice.'_  He thought to himself as he downed the flute. He stole a look at Yuri Plisetsky and the other Junior skaters, all holding flutes of their own. _'Huh. Maybe it_ is _just juice, so the kids won't feel left out.'_

_(Yuuri was right, assuming that Yuri Plisetsky was holding non-alcoholic pear juice. He was wrong, however, to think that they were drinking the same thing.)_

Yuuri tried to keep out of everyone's way, occasionally stealing glances at Viktor Nikiforov, who was pleasantly speaking to sponsors, and every now and then, Christophe Giacometti. Yuuri huffed as he sipped his second drink, sighing into the flute. _'Lucky Chris; who knows how long he'd been standing on the same ice, same podium as Viktor. Guy's living the good life...'_ He smiled sadly to himself. _'Well the life_ I'd _like.'_

His third and fourth flutes were handed to him by the same waiter with the strong Russian accent and kind face, but Yuuri couldn't be bothered to remember him as he watched his silver-haired idol laughing with the irate blonde, and a tall, beautiful redhead whom he'd recognized as the female singles figure skater Mila Babicheva. A tall, with the dark, quiff-styled hair joined them, the male singles figure skater Georgi Popovich, but Yuuri noted that he wasn't laughing along with the trio. He assumed that they were simply teasing the tallest of them. Yuuri felt a pang of jealousy when he saw how easy it was for Yuri to smack Viktor, how comfortable Mila looked as she draped herself against the man, and how almost second-nature it was for Georgi to brush off anything the skating legend said. 

_'Must be nice, to skate in the same home rink,'_ Yuuri mused with a defeated smile, nursing his seventh drink. He noted to himself that he needed to know the brand of the champagne; it was divine and would have made a great gift to his family. _'Since I couldn't bring back a medal, after all.'_ He added bitterly. He swished the liquid in the glass lightly, laughing to himself. _'At least it's also gold.'_

After his tenth flute, Yuuri started feeling a bit better about going to the banquet. He'd taken a liking to those tiny pancakes with salmon and caviar that he'd eat in one bite, as well as those meat dumplings that slightly remind him of _shumai_. Sure he hadn't talked to anyone in the past hour or two, but at least he was able to sample topnotch Russian cuisine. 

And the superb champagne he'd probably drank two bottles' worth of. 

It was on his seventeenth glass that Yuuri finally felt confident enough to try and mingle. Everybody was still there, still eating, _still drinking_ , so he loosened his tie and wobbled (' _why is walking so hard?'_ ) to the dance floor. 

The Italian female singles skater Sara Crispino danced with him a bit, all giggles and less-than-shy smiles, until her twin brother, male singles skater Michele came between them, but not without cussing him up and down in their language. Yuuri simply brushed him off, admiring how sensual  _'fuck you!'_ sounded in Italian. Snubbed but not put out, Yuuri simply approached the drinks table, eyeing the familiar drink poured meticulously into their flutes, but against all better judgment, grabbed one of the bottles instead. To everyone's horror and amusement, the inebriated Japanese man started gulping straight from the bottle, bottoms up, even having the gall to offer the tainted drink to passers-by. 

***

At this point, Viktor had finally gotten himself a drink of his own and had just escaped speaking with one of his sponsors. Of course he found the beautiful Ms. Yekaterina Yunovskaya entertaining, but she was somewhat of a chatterbox; as the alcohol poured in, so did her stories, apparently. He had excused himself with a wink and a thong-dropping smile, making his way to check if the flute Yuri Plisetsky was holding contained apple juice or cider. Should it had been the latter, Viktor supposed he could swoop it from the boy's hand without having Yakov know. 

Except, a black-haired drunk got to his junior first, waving a half-full bottle of champagne in one hand, and his tasteless baby blue - _like, really?_ \- necktie in the other. Viktor's mind went hyper drive, a heavy weight in his stomach as he briskly made his way to Yuri, hoping to fend off the drunkard harassing his rink mate with stern words, but ready to throw a punch if he needed to. 

'You...! Y-you're *hiccup* Yuri Plisetsky, right?! You think you're so hawt..." 

"Leave me alone, you stupid pig! You're gross and shitfaced!" 

"...you're a gold medalist... so what?! *hiccup* I-I bet... I bet I can floor you with my dance moves!" 

"HUH?!" 

Viktor stopped in his tracks and brought a hand to his snickering mouth. His worry dissipated the moment he recognized the wasted talker as Yuuri Katsuki. The Japanese man talked tough, but with how high-pitched his voice was, and how he spoke to Yuri but looked a few degrees off his direction, it was pretty hard to take him seriously. Besides, red-faced Yuuri Katsuki was baiting the also red-faced Yuri Plisetsky to a dance-off, to which the latter had spitefully, but willingly took the former on. 

"Oh, what is this? Is little Yuri Plisetsky actually charging headfirst into a dance?"

Viktor suddenly felt heavy, toned arms drape around him, the scent of spiked chocolate filling his nose. Chuckling at Christophe Giacometti, the man who'd suddenly thrown away any semblance of Viktor's personal space, Viktor took out his yellow-cased smartphone to take a selfie. Chris managed to wink and blow a kiss for the camera, while Viktor raised his wine flute to a toast. The Russian legend was about to upload the picture on Instagram, but recalled that the GPF banquet was _explicitly not_  for the public eye. Huffing, he smiled at Chris with apologetic eyes. "And I took such an enchanting one of us too." 

"Sometimes, pictures kept _un_ posted are treasured the most~" Chris responded, eyes half-lidded, trained to the two skaters currently break dancing in the middle of the floor. He gingerly pointed at the two, adding, " _Those_ , my friend, are moments worth capturing and locking up in the confines of your phone. For posterity or blackmail, well, I leave that to you." 

Viktor, without thinking, snaps a few photos of Yuri and Yuuri Katsuki, before grinning back at the Swiss still hanging onto him. "You wound me," He drawled, tucking his hand in his pocket. "Ah, but I would like to immortalize Yura's lively dancing; he seems like he'd grow to an awfully cynical and coarse man that I'd taken it upon myself to remind him of his glorious youth." 

Chris removed himself from Viktor before laughing into his sleeve. "The face and body of a fairy, but the temper and mouth of a boar." He commented with no actual bite, taking Viktor's glass and drinking from it. Viktor huffed at him, not really miffed, before turning to the two dancers in the middle after a particularly loud chorus of gasps. Chris trailed his sight, smiling to himself and snapping a few pictures.

"You better get Yuri out of this, Viktor; who knows when Coach Yakov will be back to end you both." Chris said, stifling a laugh. Viktor scoffed. 

"Yakov will kill me either way, so let's have some fun while I'm still alive!" 

Viktor ran to the middle of the dance floor, shooting pictures up close. Chris sighed, watching him fondly. His coach, Josef Karpisek, approached him shortly, clapping the taller Swiss on the shoulders. 

"It's so rare of you to simply be an observer." He quipped, obviously a bit tipsy. Chris downed his wine and smiled at his coach.

"If I join in the fun right away, Viktor would definitely pull back and play photographer." Chris mused, eyes bright as he gandered at the mismatched trio. "Heaven knows when I've last seen _that_ smile on his mug."

Josef raised his eyebrows at his protege. "But Viktor's been nothing but smiles for God knows how long, even before his streak." He pointed out, wondering if he could recall Viktor Nikiforov in anything but a smile outside the skating rink. Chris left it at that and pulled out his phone, taking photos at Viktor's hooting and the almost shameful way Yuri Plisetsky and Yuuri Katsuki desecrate the ballroom floor. It was obvious that Yuri couldn't keep up; the boy was known for his elegance on the ice, but never for his stamina. Yuuri, on the other hand, was a hot mess, all sweat and intoxication, who looked as if he could go all night. 

"Well, he looks like an idiot now," Chris comments offhandedly, moving to the exit. Josef caught the taller man by the arm. 

"Where are you going?"

"Gonna treat this party to real dancing."

*** 

Yuuri's head hurt, and his clothes felt uncomfortable. Opening his eyes, he was thankful for the blinds in his hotel room, allowing him to nurse his hangover in peaceful darkness. "What did I drink last night..." He mumbled, walking to his bathroom, legs jelly and uncooperative. Stripping out of his suit, Yuuri squinted at the wrinkled fabric, wondering how unruly he was in his sleep that his suit looked utterly disastrous. "No use crying over it now." He huffed and tossed his clothes to the floor, opting to fold and pack them in his laundry bag later. The shower beckoned him, but the Japanese skater stopped dead in his tracks, observing his nude reflection in horror.

On his left hip was a small, but solid black snowflake with even tinier silver wings.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has no time to worry about the small tattoo on his hip as life catches up to him. Skating may be a big part of him, but it's not everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy people were able to read and enjoy the first chapter! <3 I'll do my best to keep the story going on a steady pace. Thanks everyone!

Honestly, Yuuri thought he had drank himself to despair and managed to get a tattoo on the way to the hotel. The tattoo on his hip, a black snowflake with silver wings, was definitely not to his taste, and he wondered if some other skater from the banquet thought it was funny to mark Yuuri with such a feminine shape. He was just about to call Celestino and ask him for directions to the nearest tattoo parlor, until he realized that his hip did not hurt at all. "That's strange," Yuuri whispered, poking the pigmented skin softly, and then pinching it. Aside from the expected sting of a pinch, the tattoo didn't so much as hurt, puzzling the Japanese man even more. "Couldn't be henna either," He said after sniffing his fingers.

He sighed, wondering how he'd be able to explain it to his parents. Realization struck him like a truck. ' _Parents. Hot springs. I have a tattoo- SHIT SHIT SHIT.'_ Yuuri swore his thoughts were deafening him, but he couldn't be bothered with losing his hearing at that point. _'God, no!!! How could I, the son of an inn keeper mess up this bad?!'_  Yuuri paced back and forth in his bathroom, wondering how to inform his parents of his grave mistake. It would, however, had been much easier if he actually _knew_ how he made said mistake. The Japanese man thought long and hard, and despite all his best efforts, Yuuri only came blank.

"I've got to call Celestino," He groaned, running out to his bed and grabbing his phone. With shaky fingers, Yuuri finally dialed his coach's number, only waiting two rings until the Italian picked up.

_"Ah, Yuuri!_ **Buon giorno** _!"_

"What?" Yuuri sputtered, before shaking his head rapidly. "Celestino! What did I do last night?!"

_"Huh? We were at the banquet."_

Yuuri groaned in frustration. " _Yes,_  I know that, but _what did I do?!_ "

_"Hmm."_  Celestino paused. Yuuri could almost imagine his coach rubbing his chin in deep thought. _"You actually did nothing. I tried to get you to mingle with some sponsors and skaters, but you didn't want to talk. At one point, I couldn't find you and I thought you just turned in early."_

"Oh." Yuuri said dumbly, recalling his pitiful self standing by the corner, people-watching. It was _Viktor-watching_  really, but what could he do? "Did you see any skaters missing after I left?" 

_"Ah, no, **mi dispiace** ; when you left, I decided to leave as well. No point in being at the banquet if my skater wasn't there, after all."_

"Ah, I'm so sorry!" The Japanese man suddenly felt guilty, wondering if Celestino wanted to stay longer at the party. The man loved to drink and eat, and he was a social butterfly who spoke to other skaters and coaches with ease.

_"Don't sweat it! The food was good, don't get me wrong, but I think Russian cuisine is not for me, no?"_

That was a total lie, as Celestino kept on singing praises about blinis and borscht the moment they've gotten to sample them. He was pretty ruthless as a coach, but when it came to approaching Yuuri about things that didn't concern skating, the Italian usually skirted around him, as if walking on eggshells, as if Yuuri _were_  made of eggshells.

"O-oh, is that right?" Yuuri laughed halfheartedly. "Well, I'll see you at the lobby in an hour?"

_"Yes, yes; we need to get some of those very good booze they served at the party! **Ciao ciao**!"_

"Yeah, **ciao ciao**..." Yuuri trailed, turning off his phone and throwing himself onto the bed. The phone call didn't help at all; it just made him feel worse. Yuuri sighed and decided to cut his losses and googled "Male Figure Skaters with Tattoos". To his relief, pictures of Evgeni Plushenko, Johnny Weir, and John-Jaques Leroy (how he forgot about his tattoos, Yuuri did not know) flooded the page right away. "Well, if I can't bathe in the hot springs, at least I can still skate, right?"

***

Yuuri eyed Christophe as discreetly as he could from behind a pair of shades he borrowed from Celestino. This didn't work out too well for him, however, as his myopia prevented him from actually _seeing_  Chris, but wearing shades over his own, relatively large eyeglasses was not only very, _very_ suspicious, but also asinine. _'I should have gotten those contact lenses after all...'_  He lamented as he pulled off the eye wear, replacing them with his blue-rimmed ones. With how horrible his luck was, Yuuri was surprised to see that Chris hadn't noticed his stalker-ish gawking, and was busy with his phone.

Yuuri had come to accept that the skating community (or at least the one he's been christened to) was slightly( _obsessively_ ) keen on social media. He had accounts on every platform, but most of the time he either thought keeping up was too troublesome, or he forgot the usernames and passwords. Besides, not having an active account prevents people from tagging him on weird photos, or tagging him on weird photos _of him_. He did keep his Instagram secretly alive, if only to stalk Viktor incognito, and see what his Thai skater friend Phichit Chulanont was up to.

Back to his task, Yuuri continued swiping looks at the Swiss skater, waiting for him to wink at him and say something along the lines of 'did you like my little surprise for you?' Yuuri really didn't want to put Chris on the hot seat, if only in his head, but there was really nobody else who could have dragged him off to a tattoo shop. Jean-Jaques Leroy wouldn't have done it; try as he might, he couldn't even remember the Canadian powerhouse at the party. Yuri Plisetsky, or anyone from the Russian team wouldn't have spared him a second glance, more so take him out for a tat. Chris, on the other hand, had shared some history with him, even if for just a few meets during their Junior years. Yuuri doubted they'd gone out for anything more than a physical exam, though.

"You're going to drill a hole into Chris' head, Yuuri; what on earth are you thinking about?" Celestino chided, breaking Yuuri's reverie. The Japanese skater mumbled an apology and looked down at his phone, a bit ashamed he was caught gawking. Celestino, however, was more perceptive than Yuuri took him for, and sometimes there were things he just didn't let go. "Well? Aren't you telling your coach what's been bothering you?"

"O-oh, it's nothing really, something stupid I might have done last night." Yuuri said, almost in a whisper. He looked pitifully at his coach, eyes large and morose. "Look, I'm telling you as my coach, but I hope we keep this low, all right?"

"Of course."

"At one point in the banquet, I must have gotten drunk and had gotten myself to a tattoo parlor." Yuuri whispered. To his credit, Celestino looked at him patiently, his expression not breaking its neutral yet concerned gaze, waiting for Yuuri to finish his story before he gives his input. Yuuri inhaled, then continued. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't alone, because I know nothing about this city. It might be better if I show you, actually."

With an hour to boarding, Yuuri brought his coach to the cubicles, lowering his trouser garter just enough to show the man his small snowflake-with-wings tattoo. Celestino raised his eyebrow at it, crossing one arm across his chest, supporting his other one as his rubbed his chin in deep thought. "Does it sting?"

"No; it actually just feels like a normal patch of skin."

Celestino thought quietly some more, and Yuuri wasn't sure if he would be relieved or afraid. "I have an inkling, but I can't be too sure. You sure this is the first time you saw this?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll go talk to the other coaches just in case someone spills." Celestino said with a small, knowing smile. "Don't worry about; if JJ got away with his ridiculous maple leaf, you can with your snow fairy."

"Oh _God_ , it's girly, isn't it?"

"Well, it isn't _maschio_ , if that's what you want me to say."

Yuuri covered his tattoo and sighed, wondering how much a tattoo removal would be. "Cheer up, Yuuri! It's not unsightly." With a considering look, he added. "Maybe you can ask your parents what they think about it! I'm sure they will tell you that it's not half bad."

"Oh God, my parents; they'll kill me! We own hot springs and I just violated the 'no-tattoo' policy!" Yuuri groaned, pulling at his hair. Celestino quirked his eyebrows, definitely confused, but let it go. He knew how old-school the Easterners were, so he'd leave it at that.

"Well, it's here now, so let's just make lemonade out of lemons, _si_?"

***

Despite all his initial pining and determination to come home to Vicchan, Yuuri decided to head back to Detroit and train for the Japanese Nationals. He couldn't bear come home empty-handed, after all his moon-reaching dreams and big speeches to his family over Skype, so he steeled himself to try one more time. Also, he had just finished his final thesis draft, and thankfully he was allowed to present his research via video conference due to his sport. The university was unbelievably lax with him, allowing him to take units at a partner university in the US, and taking exams mailed and proctored by visiting instructors. He had messed up and was held back a year, so Yuuri was determined to finish his studies before Nationals. He wouldn't allow himself to be a 24-year-old without a degree.

_"Come on, Yuuri! It's just me, I'll be more than happy to be your mock panel."_

Yuuri sighed, sparing a small smile to Phichit through the webcam. "Thanks, Phichit. I'm just really nervous, you know? I wrote this paper _a year ago_. I haven't even checked on it during the short competition down times." He whined. This was a bit of a lie, however, as Yuuri was never any good at ignoring anything. Despite not reading his own research all throughout the season the year prior, he had his references bookmarked and resorted to perusing those when he felt particularly behind his readings, or if he wanted to ignore the heat of the competition. With that said, it wasn't a very smart move to occupy himself with write ups about social responsibility in the work place while he was still flubbing his jumps.

Phichit hummed in response, tapping his lower lip. _"You sure you want to have your defense in three days? Japan Nationals is in 10 days; why not postpone it til then so you can prepare for longer and present it personally while you're competing?"_ He said cheerfully, gray eyes sparkling. Yuuri appreciated the sunshine Phichit had become, but he knew being swayed by his friend into postponing the defense once more could only dig him a deeper hole. Besides, it was no secret that Yuuri would get eaten by nerves if he were to present his thesis in person. Phichit knew this, but he was probably just being a little shit.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Yuuri said with finality as he readied his presentation and index cards. "I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be."

_"Awesome! I'll play the role of that crude, bulldog-faced professor you hated, what was his name-"_

"Phichit."

_"Katsuki-san, **naze kono juyouna no desu ka**?"_

"You totally Google-translated that!"

_" **Kotaete!** "_

Yuuri doubled over laughing at Phichit's _yankee_  accent, which he probably picked up from subbed anime. He swore the Thai was simply reading off poorly translated lines from Google instead of actually understanding what he was spouting. Wiping a tear from his eye, Yuuri muted Phichit, if just to make sure he could breathe. "Okay, okay, your Japanese is _di mak_." Phichit's mouth started yapping once more, but he was muted and Yuuri just laughed at him again. "No, I muted you so that I can find the will to breathe."

Phichit's face contorted with indignation, feigning offense with his hand splayed against his chest. The Japanese found him utterly hilarious, however, that despite telling him so, Phichit continued to mouth off the video, as if continuously talking would miraculously un-mute him on Yuuri's side. The Thai skater did not stop talking, however, and the Japanese man wondered what nonsense he could have been spouting about. Curiosity winning over, Yuuri un-muted Phichit.

_"-one hundred years later, the Negro is still not free! One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation AND THE CHAINS OF DISCRIMINATION!!!"_

"God, Phichit, **shut up**!" Yuuri howled, falling over once more, tears in his eyes. Phichit was sputtering on the other end, most probably not expecting his friend to listen in on him. " _Why on earth_  are you reciting Martin Luther King?!"

_"Couldn't help it! You weren't really listening and I needed to practice for Public Speaking anyway!"_  The Thai reasoned, his brown face rosy with embarrassment. Really, it wasn't easy to rile up the almost-shameless skater, so Yuuri secretly relished the moments when he was the one supplying a smug grin.  _"Also, it's Junior. Martin Luther King Jr."_

(Heaven knows he's _always_ been on the receiving end of said smug grins.)

_"Since we're not really taking our studies seriously right now,_ " Phichit supplied, earning a mock-glare from Yuuri, _"I want to ask for your opinion about themes, that okay?"_

"Sure."

_"Great! Since you're competing in ten days, I'm pretty sure you've gotten a solid regimen and a new theme..."_

***

Yuuri did _not_ have a solid regimen and a new theme.

He and Celestino had been putting together a new set of programs for Nationals ever since Yuuri's first GPF event, but Yuuri would be lying if he claimed that he was very enthusiastic about them. His theme, which was supposed to be announced after ( _if_ ) he won gold at Nationals, was supposedly "Courage", but it wasn't really something he felt he had at that time. The choreographer Celestino had him work with got to know Yuuri only by reading about him and watching his programs; Yuuri wondered if it was wise to work with someone with only theoretical knowledge about him, but he supposed Celestino knew best and the choreographer _did_  deliver. The program itself was tailored-fit to exploit Yuuri's strong points and hopefully the judges would be generous with giving out points.

"You have the Quad Toe under your belt, and your Triple Salchow has gotten a cleaner landing more recently." Celestino told him during one of their off-ice coaching sessions. The Italian generally didn't mess with Yuuri's artistic freedom when he and the choreographer developed his program's artistic elements (except to point out something that may be too unsightly or too insignificant when viewed from the rink side), but to keep his skaters on track, Celestino was used to presenting the base value of the program's hypothetical technical scores. "I've studied a few of your competitors, but it seems that many Japanese skaters have been inspired to start Seniors much, much younger now. Most of them are probably still in high school! The highest difficulty jump they seem to have down is a Triple Axel."

"I-Is that so?" Yuuri asked, feeling conflicted about competing against younger skaters. It could go either way with him, after all; Yuuri could perform his best and eclipse the less-experienced competitors, or he could magnificently bomb his programs once more and humiliate himself by losing to skaters who can more than compensate for their programs' lack of quads. "I can try entering my Triple Axel Single Loop combo with a Spread Eagle, if it garners more points." Yuuri offered, albeit a bit unsure. He's entered jumps with the Spread Eagle before, but never during a competition, mostly because it never looked 'right' with the choreography. His choreographer always did offer to have it during the step sequence, as it adds a dramatic flair towards the end of a program.

"I'll talk to your choreographer about it," Celestino nodded, leaned back. He spared a tired, but gentle smile, reaching to pat Yuuri's back. "I think we can end today's session earlier today."

"Huh? It's only been half a day, Celestino."

The Italian hummed in response. "True as that may be, you have _other_ things to worry about, right?" Yuuri's mouth hung agape as his coach let out a booming laugh. "Phichit told me; no, don't kill your friend, he was only looking out for you." Yuuri blushed at that, wondering when Phichit had gotten in contact with Celestino again. "Your thesis defense is tomorrow, _no_? Why not take the afternoon off to review your notes?"

"R-right..." Yuuri mumbled, ashamed of forgetting the very thing his graduation hinged on. Looking down, Yuuri sighed and started untying his skates.

"Say, Yuuri," Celestino started, to which the Japanese skater raised his head.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you've talked to your mother about tattoos and if you can enter the _onsen_ with one."

"Oh, I totally forgot about that." Yuuri answered, eyes widening in realization. He frantically grabbed his hair, scrunching his eyebrows in frustration. "Mari's gonna kill me! God, Mom won't scold me but her face will _say it all_."

"Oh, that bad, huh?" Celestino whistled, expression confused.

"She'll think I'm a _Yankee_ , or something!"

"I'm sure she wouldn't judge you for liking baseball."

Yuuri simply groaned in surrender.

***

" _Thank you, Katsuki-san, I believe this will be sufficient._ "

"O-oh, thank you, _Hiroto-sensei_." Yuuri stammered, offering a deep bow to the webcam. The three panelists, including the one Phichit so graciously impersonated, had muted themselves but appeared to be in discussion with each other. Yuuri wondered if they had simply forgotten to end their video conference (they were pretty old), but they constantly shot him acknowledging glances and nods to let him know they weren't finished. Yuuri backtracked the defense in his mind, sweat ice-cold from recalling all the stutters and dead air moments he had during the entire call.

" _Katsuki-san? We've come to a verdict."_

Yuuri sprung upright, head slightly stinging from the whiplash. His throat was dry but he kept on trying to gulp down whatever lump he felt. _'I hope I don't look like an idiot,'_ He begged silently as he eyed his poker-faced panelists. _'I hope these guys don't enjoy ruining my future-'_

_"Do you have any event scheduled by the end of March this year, Katsuki-san?"_

"Oh, uh?" Yuuri stuttered, before recomposing himself. "O-oh, no, none at the moment."

_'Good. See to it that you will **not**  compete around that time.'_

Yuuri's body grew cold, equal parts petrified and confused with the direction their discussion was going. "Forgive me, but I'm not sure I follow, _Hiroto-san..._ "

The three panelists shared knowing, half-lidded looks before each face broke into a small smile.

_"We wanted to make sure; it would be a shame if you missed your own graduation, after all."_

Before Yuuri could process the new information, it seemed like his body knew exactly how to react. With tears in his eyes and a wide grin on his face, the Japanese skater offered bow after bow, each lower than the other. "Thank you very much!" He cried, trying to sound as dignified as possible. The pulsating throb in his chest had gotten quite painful that breathing was becoming a hassle, but Yuuri couldn't be bothered at that point. His defense was finished, he passed, and if he died from trying to absorb all the good news, Yuuri didn't care.

Two years worth of research, of juggling straggler minor subjects, rigorously practicing his programs, and sampling his chosen population, of taking online business English classes to make sure his paper was _impeccable_ , Yuuri felt every single moment worth the elation he was feeling.

_"Congratulations, Katsuki-san! You have worked so hard."_

"Ah, this is worth all my efforts." He smiled, finally straightening himself.

_"Fantastic! We're honored to have paneled for such an auspicious athlete; we are now more than certain that there will be nothing to impede your preparations for victory."_

Yuuri's smile faltered, a twitch finding itself at the corner of his mouth. "T-thank you." He said, almost a whisper, before excusing himself and ending the call with polite and empty salutations. Gently folding his laptop's screen down to trigger hibernation, the Japanese man allowed himself a shaky breath, all his euphoria expelled with his sigh.

_Of course_ , they were going to pass him. He was set to pass by default. Nobody wanted to be the reason why Katsuki Yuuri would fall short of the podium again. 

"Of course," Yuuri growled through gritted teeth as he felt bitter tears run over the streams left by his earlier happiness. "Of- _fucking-_ course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had to do some research regarding the ISU figure skating point system and the impact of quads to the overall performance. Math is hard.
> 
> Buon giorno - good morning  
> Mi dispiace - I'm sorry  
> Ciao ciao - bye bye  
> Maschio - manly  
> Naze kono juyouna no desu ka - I totally forgot what this meant Q_Q  
> Kotaete - answer me!
> 
> Also, I wanted to cover what wasn't shown in the anime. Before Yuuri returned to Hasetsu, he supposedly graduated (from a Japanese university, I think I read that it was Kino University somewhere? If I'm wrong, please do correct me! 
> 
> Edit: Here's the link to where I found Yuuri's University: http://yoimeta.tumblr.com/post/154997139723/yuuri-travels-with-his-posters-of-victor  
> For those who'd like to check, It's on episode 2, near the beginning where Yuuri does his "Hi there! My name is Katsuki Yuuri!" speech. :D


	3. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's back in Japan and more than a bit nervous about coming home after half a decade. Thankfully, his family and his old ballet teacher are more than ready to let him know that he still fits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out early. >.< The story's starting to pick up the pace!

When the small Japanese skater was endorsed to him almost five years ago, Celestino didn't know what to make of it. At that time, he had wanted to try coaching Asians, what with his experience with Western skaters being less than fulfilling. The Italian had fretted that he was no good as a coach after all, since he saw how well his previous student, Jean-Jaques Leroy, was doing under his new coach and choreographer. To his credit, however, JJ was being guided by his Olympian ice dancer parents, so Celestino understood that they would have known how to help their son the best.

At that time, Katsuki Yuuri was still in Juniors, but wasn't exactly remarkable as he's never gotten farther than his second GPF event, despite winning Nationals back home consistently. Celestino tried to reach out to Yuuri's previous coach, but was at a loss when the boy cited he had no _actual_  coach before him, and that his ballet teacher-slash-choreographer stood in to fill the position. The Italian was familiar with the _Benoise de la Danse_  awardee Okukawa Minako, and he'd tried to be in constant contact with her online to learn more about Yuuri. She'd filled him in on Yuuri's strengths, how flexible he was and how much control Yuuri had over his body and movements; she'd also filled him in on Yuuri's weaknesses, how easily rattled he got and how one negative thought could prompt a massive mental breakdown.

"He was a ballet dancer before he was a skater?" Celestino asked, wondering why a renowned ballerina like Minako would allow Yuuri to change paths instead of honing him as her danseur protege.

_Yes, he wasn't a very outgoing kid; his mother and I knew each other, so she had put him in my classes in an attempt to help him make friends."_  Minako said through the phone, her voice equal parts fond and sympathetic, as if she were reminiscing a less than ideal memory. _"He made a friend in my class, a girl who was taking up ballet to get better at figure skating. Down the road, the girl introduces Yuuri to figure skating through Viktor Nikiforov; safe to say, that's where it all started."_

"Ah, so Yuuri is a fan of Viktor's?" Celestino asked dumbly, almost wanting to take back his words because _of course, everyone_ was _a fan of Viktor_. His shame intensified as he heard Minako's robust laughter. _'La signorina Minako has the laugh of a cowboy, I see.'_  He thought as he typed Yuuri's profile on his laptop.

_"_ Fan _is such a weak word, for how Yuuri feels about Viktor."_ Minako supplied, her smile evident through her voice. _"The moment he saw him on television, Yuuri's life centered around his heartfelt wish to meet him on the ice someday. It was refreshing really; Yuuri was a boy who didn't talk until spoken to, didn't leave the house if he didn't have to, and didn't bother looking at you if he thought he wasn't worth your time. After putting on the skates for the first time, however, Yuuri couldn't stop talking about the ice and Viktor, he made friends and even got a dog! It was like life was breathed into the boy after more than a decade of simply existing."_

"Ah, to have gotten this far, stemming from sheer admiration alone, I'm conflicted as to whom is more admirable, Viktor or Yuuri." Celestino chuckled, replaying the past performances Viktor had delivered. The man was a powerhouse, and anybody who claimed to know figure skating knew Viktor Nikiforov; he's made the podium ever since his Juniors debut at fourteen years old, and he's never left it ever since. A lot of his own previous students had crashed and burned trying to dethrone him, to no avail, and yet many more come to him with the same goal. Celestino tried, very much so, to train his skaters enough to be on par with whom was to be Russia's living legend, but one way or another, Viktor had become an ever-evolving enigma, impossible to predict or pin down. "This means a lot to him," He said without thinking.

_"More than you or I would ever hope to know, I'm afraid."_

Celestino had felt a driving force within him, something both exciting and terrifying. "I cannot promise that I'll be able to build Yuuri strong enough to take Viktor's crown," He began, earning a small gasp from the other line. "But," he paused, ice running through his veins, "I'll get him close enough to try."

***

He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed.

The choreography was crafted with Yuuri in mind, with everything that would pull him up and above anyone else in the competition, so _why_ , Celestino asked himself, did his student beat his GPF's all time low, at the Japanese Nationals no less? Yuuri made _every_ jump a single, and his timing was off the entire program, as if he had forgotten his entire skate. He even had Yuuri checked for injuries the man may have been hiding from him, but all his medical results came out clear. It frustrated the Italian to no end, and he did not understand where he could have gone wrong. He tried to shrug it off, immediately contacting a different choreographer who could work with them for next year's season, still hoping that he could pull Yuuri out of his slump.

The man beat him to the punchline, and had decided to _end it with him_  instead. Celestino was proud of how calm he accepted being let go, but he couldn't help if he felt _devastated_  that a student he's spent so much of himself on had given up. Yuuri had given him his final payment, thanked him profusely, then moved out of his rink. Celestino wondered if it should have still surprised him when two months later, he found out that Yuuri had returned to Japan. The Italian thought of calling Okukawa Minako to check on his ex-student, but thought against it. Instead, he deleted the ballerina's number, finding is a bit creepy of him to keep it after their only link had severed ties with him. "He's not my responsibility anymore," Celestino sighed, feeling a bit heavier than he expected.

***

"Hello, Mom?"

_"Yuuri! I almost didn't recognize your number!"_

"Uh, yeah, I'm back in Japan." Yuuri admitted, lugging his things back to his assigned dormitory.

_"Welcome back, Yuuri! Do you need Papa to pick you up from the airport?"_ His mother asked, voice with unmasked happiness. Yuuri felt bad for her as he opened his university-assigned dormitory room.

"Actually, I'm at _Kiino_ ," He answered, pulling his luggage in with difficulty. "I have to finish some graduation papers so that I can get my diploma next month."

" _Oh, congratulations Yuuri! I have to tell Marichan and Papa! They will be so proud!"_ His mother squealed. Yuuri heard her call out to some people in the background in nearly unintelligible _Saga-ben_ , before returning to him. _"Marichan and Minako-senpai want to celebrate with you!"_

Yuuri flopped down on his strangely neat but understandably dusty bed. "I appreciate it, but would it be okay if you guys wait until I get back to Hasetsu instead? I'd like some more time alone." Yuuri sighed, wondering if he could have worded it better. _'Alone time? You've been alone for **5 years** , if you don't remember.' _he berated himself, wondering if he should just backpedal and meet up with his sister and his ballet teacher.

_"Oh, that's okay, I'm sure they will understand!"_ His mother responded, cheeriness still present. _"Are you okay, Yuurichan? I'm not one to pry, but I hope you know I can hear it in your voice if you have something you want to say."_

Yuuri sighed again, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

_Vicchan's dead. I flubbed the Grand Prix Finals. I flubbed the Japan Nationals. I passed university **because no one wanted to be associated to me losing**._

"Nah, I'm fine, just tired."

" _Yuurichan."_

"I-I'm really okay, Mom," Yuuri sputtered, feeling a lump in his throat. He tried clearing it with deep breaths, but all it did was make it sound like he was sobbing. "N-no, I'm just tired, please don't worry!"

His mother giggled gently on the other line. _"I'm your mother, Yuuri. I will always worry about you and Marichan."_  She paused, the silence allowing Yuuri to hear a televised basketball game in the background. _"As long as you can go on your own, I told myself, I'd stand back and watch you grow. As long as_ **you** _can. You are a quiet boy, but your eyes speak so, so much louder than anyone else's, and your voice betrays the things you try to hide from Mama."_

Yuuri gasped, not trusting himself to speak. His mother's tone flushed him out and laid him bare, and all the walls he so painstakingly put up crumbled to the ground. _'Nope'_  Yuuri thought miserably, _'I'm not getting out of this one.'_

"Everything's just gone downhill ever since the Grand Prix Final," Yuuri sobbed, grabbing his tissue box and wiping his nose. "I'm really tired, Mom. I'm tired of not being good enough."

It was good, Yuuri thought, that he was finally able to let it all out. He was guilty, because he knew both Celestino and Phichit deserved to know how he felt after they both blindly supported him, and embarrassed that all it took was his mother's prodding for him to open up. All his doubts, fears and disappointments didn't vanish, but at least Yuuri knew that his mother was stronger enough, _more than enough_ , to help him carry them, at least until he could handle them on his own again.

"Thanks, Mom, you're the best," Yuuri cried, allowing a smile on his lips.

_"Anything for you, Yuuri. I'll make sure to have a Katsudon and a bath ready when you come home. I miss you, you know?"_

Bath. Yuuri's eyes widened as he palmed his hip through his pants. "Oh no," He groaned, shaking his head as his mother hummed on the other line. "I forgot to tell you something." Yuuri began, bracing himself for an invisible punch that wouldn't really come. "Uh, I kind of have gotten a tattoo."

_"Oh my! Why, Yuurichan?"_  His mother's voice ended with a playful whine, and Yuuri was afraid that she was actually trying to put down her anger. The Japanese gulped, wondering how to explain his bad decisions to his mother.

"I think I drank too much at the banquet," He began, desperately trying to jog his memory for any supplemental information that would suffice his mother's _why_. Nothing came to mind. "Celestino said I disappeared at one point, and when I woke up, I had this tattoo on my hip."

_"Yuurichan!"_  His mother had sounded scandalized. The man realized that his mother probably thought he had gotten an edgy, punk-ish design, probably with a dragon, so he spoke to correct her.

"It's nothing much, I promise! I don't know who chose the design, but it's really small, around the size of a 500 yen coin."

_"...what does it look like?"_

"Oh, it's pretty tame and on the girly side," Yuuri admitted with a blush, wishing he _did_  get a cooler design. "It's a black snowflake with silver wings." When he received no response, Yuuri wondered if even his mother thought it was lame. "It's a bit cool, though! The silver wings are really shiny and even though it's been three months, it's still as bright as a newly polished knife!"

_"...just a second, dear."_

_'Ugh, what am I even saying?!'_ Yuuri groaned internally. _'Did I really feel the need to look cool in front of Mom? She probably still sees me at a little chubby boy!'_

There were shuffling sounds on the other side, as if the phone his mother used was in her pocket while she walked. Muffled voices were also audible, but Yuuri was not as proficient at _Saga-ben_  as Mari, so he couldn't make out what they were saying.

_"Yuuri? It's me, Mari."_

"O-oh hey, Mari-neechan! I'm sorry I couldn't have you and Minako-sensei over." Yuuri said, feeling himself shrink into the bed. He caught himself taking deep breaths, _fearing_ that his mother had told his older sister, who had a dual-color blonde-black hairstyle, that Yuuri had not just a snowflake tattoo, but a snowflake with _wings_.

_"Mom said you got a tattoo."_

"Uh, yeah..."

_"Did it hurt?"_

"Um, no, I was drunk." Yuuri said, caught off guard at how fast Mari was talking.

_"Not even after you wake up?"_

"No, it just feels like normal skin."

_"And it's metallic silver?"_

"Yeah, it's pretty high quality." Yuuri said, feeling a bit proud, and a bit confused.

_"Yuuri, metallic inks are toxic."_

"W-wha?!" He bit his lip, worry pooling in his stomach. He had to remind himself that he underwent a medical examination a few weeks after he'd gotten the tattoo, and nothing seemed amiss. _'Oh no, what if they overlooked it?! What if this kills me, what if-'_  He shook his head quickly, enough to trigger a dizzy spell, and fell back to his bed. He forgot all about the dust, a series of coughs permeating his small room. "If it's toxic, why did they use it on me?!" He asked, desperate and panicked.

_"They didn't. It's illegal. And that's not a tattoo."_

"Then what is it? I couldn't rub it off no matter what I tried."

_"I think it's better if we talked about it in person."_

Yuuri creased his forehead, trying to understand the situation he was in. "I don't understand. Am I _not_  in danger?" He was answered by Mari's rare laughter. "Mari-neechan, I'm serious!"

_"I'm about ninety-nine percent sure what that is, but it feels wrong to tell you through the phone."_

"Be that way." Yuuri huffed, feeling a bit better. _'They sound light, I'll be okay.'_  He thought, mind still on his tattoo, but his heart with his family. "By the way, how's Dad?"

_"God, you shouldn't have asked."_ Mari drawled, mischief dripping from her mock-exasperated voice.

"Don't tell me he's hosted another _Nomikai_."

_"I won't. I_ will _tell you though that Guchi-san found the Nishigori triplets' body paint and Dad let him draw a Kabuki mask on his gut."_

"HOLY-"

_"I have a picture, wait."_

Yuuri removed the phone from his face and plugged in his headset, just in time to receive the file Mari had sent him. His free hand clamped over his mouth, a fit of giggles escaping violently through his fingers. There his father stood,  _sake_  bottle in one hand and karaoke microphone in the other, his face the color of a tomato and his bare torso sported a badly drawn face. "Gross," Yuuri guffawed, laughing in unison with his family. "Mom, get Dad to bed!"

_"Oh, don't worry about it; he's snugly under one of the kotatsu._ _"_

The call went on with a few more idle talk before his mother had to put his father to bed. _"It can't be good for his back to slump like that,"_ she mused before handing the phone to Mari.

"I guess I shouldn't keep you any longer," Yuuri offered, wondering why it had gotten a bit awkward all of a sudden.

_"I don't need to tidy up too much; the patrons were nice and sober enough to clean up after themselves. I just need to wipe a few tables and I'd be turning in too."_ Mari said, and Yuuri could almost see her itching to light a cigarette before bedtime. He was about to say goodbye when she spoke up again. _"If you don't mind, do you feel up to telling me when you first saw it?"_

"The tattoo?" Yuuri asked, earning an affirmative hum from his sister. "Oh, Mom didn't tell you. I woke up to it the day after the banquet."

_"Hmm... interesting. Yup, we're definitely talking when you get back. Good night Yuu-kun, and congratulations on your degree."_

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Yuuri responded, a bit ashamed of being congratulated for a rigged achievement. He didn't feel like he needed to unload on Mari as well, so he left it at that. The line clicked and the Japanese skater tossed his phone aside.

Despite all of Mari and his mother's assuring words, Yuuri still couldn't help but worry about the tattoo. He researched metallic ink and found out that it  _was_ toxic, and using it would definitely put any tattoo artist out of commission and possibly in jail.

"If you're not a tattoo, then what are you?" Yuuri whispered thumbing the silver wings curiously. The vibrant metallic color gleamed under the light of his room, looking more like jewelry than ink. He's taken to spending time looking at it, wondering what it meant and how he got it ever since that fateful moment, but not once did he remember what really happened. None of the other skaters checked up on him, the silence all the more adding to his confusion. Wouldn't a prankster be collecting profits by then?

Maybe it wasn't a prank after all. Maybe nobody knew what it was. Who'd bother to give him a tattoo, after all? "I'm so confused." Yuuri whispered, holding onto the comfort that Mari's seemed to have a handle on his situation. He ran his thumb against the snowflake, slowly accepting the image as a part of him. "I guess I can live with this."

***

The day of his graduation, Yuuri turned down all invitations to drinking parties in favor of packing his things to catch his train. He really should have opted for the flight, but the skater was being frugal and took every chance he got to delay his arrival in Hasetsu.

He liked long commutes, he told himself, as it gave him more time to rest and to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of his hometown. Yuuri had feared that the comfort he was pining for would be overshadowed by the need to get used to a sleepy old town he'd left five years ago, and suddenly, he'd find himself not belonging anywhere.

Were the smiles the same as he remembered? Would he still feel like a long-missed puzzle piece to complete a whole picture? Or has his old town encroached on his tiny place, growing around and over his absence?

Seven hours on the train brought him to Hasetsu. As Yuuri watched the scenery pass by with detached familiarity, he was conflicted as to how he should feel.

(The town had not changed, and he didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse.)

Yuuri alighted the train with his luggage and was treated to an unwelcome surprise of  _poster after poster_ of himself in the station.

"Oh my God," Yuuri breathed through his flu mask, his face preoccupied with blushing and blanching. He was literally _everywhere_ , glorious, graceful and impassioned, his eyes, despite being hued blue to fit the theme of the poster, showing his larger-than-life dreams and ambitions, and how he was going to fight tooth and nail to grab them by the teeth.

He looked wonderful. _'Will I ever bear that expression again?'_ Yuuri sighed, his heart brimming with pride and sorrow.  _'Sorry, Yuuri. We tried.'_

"YUURI! WELCOME HOME!!!"

"Minako-sensei," Yuuri mumbled, warily approaching the suspiciously elated woman and her embarrassingly large banner of his name. "It's been so long."

She threw her arms around him, and Yuuri melted into her embrace. Minako felt almost the same, all long, slender limbs and subtle perfume, but it's amazing what five years and countless diet breaks did to Yuuri, and it made all the difference. He was taller and much, much wider than her, and he could probably lift her already. He didn't doubt, however, that his old ballet teach could still toss him across the station if he accidentally ticked her off. Or mentioned her age.

"It's _so_  nice to see you again, Yuuri. Everyone's been restless when they heard you're coming back." The woman cooed, pinching Yuuri's cheeks and proceeded to pulling the man out of station. She scolded him into shaking a few of the locals' hands, but the skater was secretly thankful for their unwavering confidence in him, despite what happened at the GPF and Nationals.

"The people from Hasetsu would eternally be proud of you." Minako explained as they filed into her car. She looked at him fondly, and Yuuri felt the need to duck into his scarf a bit, unsure if he was worth the fondness his ex-teacher was radiating. "This is an old town. Young people like you don't want to be tied down to old places, more interested in looking for greener pastures in the bigger cities."

She started the car and drove, gently reminding Yuuri to put on his seat belt. "There are more pensioners here than young people, more empty buildings than businesses." She added, eyes downcast before moving to look at the road. "Then you started winning titles, going abroad with your hometown latched onto your name. People started looking up old, sleepy Hasetsu, saying to themselves, 'Hey, maybe there could be something more in that old, wintry town.'" 

***

Minako had been _furious_  when she found Yuuri's love handles and beer gut beneath his favorite brown coat. His parents had taken it lightly and had a laugh or two, but the former ballerina had thrown so many expletives in their dialect than Yuuri could hope of understanding. _Saga-ben_  was not an easy dialect to slip back into.

He trudged to the familiar shrine in the back of the restaurant, kneeling on a worn floor pillow. "Hi, boy." Yuuri whispered, looking at the polished wood, the picture of him and Vicchan in a simple frame, and a bunch of steamed buns for the offering. "I'm sorry I waited so long."

The skater took the picture and admired the image, he and his brown toy poodle smiling brightly for the camera. At that time, developing pictures was still a thing, and there was no online platform to upload every single selfie to. Yuuri reminisced when he first got Vicchan, just a week after he read that Viktor was fond of and currently owned a standard poodle. He'd wanted to go for a standard poodle as well, but realized that they got too big, and well, as a small twelve-year-old, Yuuri opted to get a pet he could actually take care of. His friends first teased him about copying Viktor, but that was really what they did at that time, doing their best to mimic the rising star. Shaking out of his reverie, Yuuri offered a silent prayer and turned to Minako and his parents.

Thankfully, they let him be for the mean time, giving him time to unpack and redecorate his room, which had been remade into a temporary storage space.

The room was absolutely _bare_ , save for his bed, which didn't even have a mattress. Opening his bag, Yuuri first took out a large, sturdy envelope, emptying it of its contents. On his floor scattered numerous, high-quality posters and magazine cutouts of Viktor Nikiforov. "Yup, I really do regret not getting that commemorative photo now." Yuuri sighed, wondering how he'd treasure a picture with Viktor more than all his posters. "I really hope I can meet him on the same stage again."

"Am I interrupting something?"

The skater turned around to see Mari in the inn uniformed, a cigarette in between her lips. Yuuri smiled, "Hey, Mari-neechan. I was just about to fix my room."

The woman inspected the room and sighed. "Sorry about the major wipe out; we had a surprise guest who brought his _entire_  company; we kinda needed to rent out our rooms and sleep together in the quarters beside the kitchen. They left, but we couldn't get around to returning your room to the way it was."

"It's okay, I've been meaning to redecorate it anyway." Yuuri laughed, pertaining to his posters. Mari sat down on the floor with him, inspecting his collection. The posters, she had to admit, were high quality and of different materials. The bigger ones were made with cloth-like vinyl, and the smaller ones were definitely glossy, plastic-like cardboard. She looked up to her brother, who was rubbing the back of his neck. "Is it weird? I mean I'm pretty old now for this, aren't I."

"Nah, it's fine, these are pretty good prints." Mari commented, still holding onto one of the posters, which had Viktor leaning on the rink side, wearing just a muscle shirt, white pants and a black jacket tied around his waist. He really looked good in casual, despite the obvious gold skates he's known for, and Mari secret wondered if Yuuri would mind if she looked at the legendary skater a bit longer. She put it down, however, in favor of her own personal skater in the room. "So, mind showing me that tat of yours?"

"Right," Yuuri stood up, followed by Mari and removed his coat. He suddenly felt really self-conscious, especially when his belly pressed against his sweater in such an unsightly way. Slowly, he pulled down his sweatpants just a tad, revealing his little black snowflake with shiny, silver wings. His sister rubbed her chin as she knelt in front of Yuuri to get a good look.

"Mind if I touch it?"

"No, go ahead."

Mari's cold finger rubbed his skin, and Yuuri shivered a bit. She hummed as she watched the light catch onto the silver part, squishing and stretching it, as if testing the quality.

"Yup, definitely not a tattoo." Mari said as she sat up, pulling Yuuri's pants up. Her brother looked at her expectantly.

"Well? What is it then?"

Mari smiled, a glint of playfulness in her eyes. "It's a soul mark."


	4. Enter Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri gets the talk, and Viktor does nothing but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Viktor's here! Hopefully the story gets rolling. :D

Everyone has a soulmate, so everyone has a mark. Nobody talks about it though, at least not out loud. The mark appears on a random, covert part of your body the moment your soulmate falls in love. Sometimes, you accidentally miss that moment; sometimes, you intentionally do.

Yuuri is horrified, because his soulmate fell in love the night he decided to get shitfaced.

"How do I know who my soulmate is?" He asked Mari, who was patiently eyeing him. She hummed, tapping her chin with her index finger.

"Your marks must match, of course," She began. "But soul marks are sacred things, and nobody flaunts them like medals on display. People often just take a leap of faith; if they match, they're lucky."

Yuuri gulped. "And if they don't?"

Mari looked down, her eyes boring into her own hip. She returned her gaze at Yuuri, whose eyes widened in understanding. "If they don't match, they apologize for seeing the marks, and move on with their lives, apart."

Silence enveloped the Katsuki siblings, one trying to find the words to say, the other hoping that he didn't notice her body language. Unfortunately for Mari, Yuuri was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. "C-can I see it?" He asked, and suddenly they're twenty years younger, just like when toddler Yuuri was asking Mari to show him her rub on body sticker. Mari sighed, standing up and pulling her own pants low enough to to show Yuuri her hip. Her brother was still a man, however, and Mari had the decency to be a bit angry that Yuuri was blushing at the sight of her underwear strap.

"Don't be gross, it's just underwear."

"R-right, I'm sorry."

Yuuri leaned in, inspecting his sister's soul mark. It was a black, single-swirl Chinese cloud surrounded by three, metallic blue ribbons. "It looks much cooler than mine," He noted, looking away as his sister tidied herself. "Hey, Mari-neechan? Did you find your soulmate?"

Mari's brown eyes glossed over for a moment, before she averted her gaze.  _'Was it the wrong thing to say?'_ Yuuri thought, fearing that he had overstepped his boundaries. From what he remembered, his sister  _never_ dated, and decided to work at their inn right after high school. Aside from attending some of his Junior competitions, Mari never left Hasetsu.

"I knew this would come up, one way or another anyway," She said, running a hand through her blonde hair. "You remember that the soul mark appears when your soul mate falls in love, right? My soul mark appeared when I was just ten years old."

"What, really?! How come I've never heard of it?" Yuuri exclaimed, amazed at how well-kept her sister's secret was. Mari simply sighed and tapped her hip.

"It wasn't proper to tell others about the soul mark." She told him. "It gives people the chance to fall in love with their soulmate naturally, despite the bond created for them the moment they were born. It was a surprise, how this cloud appeared on me at such a young age." Mari laughed, almost sadly. "I had an idea of whom it was, but I didn't want to assume. I was a kid, after all, and since I have not fallen in love yet, I was sure the boy didn't have a mark I could compare mine to."

"Was he your soulmate?"

"I couldn't be too sure," Mari confessed, looking straight down. "I was too scared to allow myself to fall for him, and eventually, I never did." His sister stood up, motioning Yuuri to move with her. They started taping all of his posters to the walls, as if the repetitive task gave them solace. "He caught up and took a chance with me, but nothing really happened. We grew older, and he was one of those who wanted to work in the big city. We drifted apart for years." Mari stopped to admire Viktor's image. "We never really found out, but only _because_ his soul mark never appeared."

"Oh," Yuuri said dumbly. The pressure was on him, then. He needed to fall in love with his soulmate, and  _then_ check their soul mark to be sure. He'd hate to assume and then get humiliated in the end. "Do you think," he began, "That my soulmate and I know each other?"

"That I don't know." Mari confessed. "There is too little research on soulmates, and science cannot accept something as immesurable as destiny. All I know about it are from hearsay and the stories the older people told me when I got marked. What they did consistently say was that soul marks are like magnets, and once both have appeared, soulmates are drawn to each other, even going to the ends of the earth just to meet."

Yuuri's heart clenched, something warm and hopeful filling his chest.  _'Science can go screw itself,'_ Yuuri mused to himself. "That sounds really wonderful," he told Mari. "But how about you? Why don't you try falling in love and see if your classmate really is your soulmate?"

Mari averted her eyes once more. "It's such a bother, being single is much less troublesome." She told him blandly, offering a childish smirk. When she noticed the worried expression on her brother, she immediately held up her arms, as if to halt whatever deprecating thought Yuuri had running in his head again. "But what do we know? He and I are still in contact, and maybe somewhere down the road, we'll meet again. We're only waiting for his soul mark, after all."

Yuuri giggled but said nothing more.

***

"Come here, Vitya."

Viktor Nikiforov turned to his aged coach from the center of the rink. Yakov Feltsman held his signature grumpy gaze, but not even he stoic folds on his face could hide the glow of pride in his eyes. Viktor skated towards him, doing a Triple Axel with a flourish, dangerously close to the edge. He turned to Yakov, a bit surprised as how close he really was to his fuming coach's face.

"Stupid boy! You almost crashed that foolish head of yours." Yakov spat, ears red with exasperation. Viktor spared him a heart-shaped smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

"But I'm okay, so it's okay, right?" He teased, moving to exit the ice. Yakov rubbed his temples as he watched his pupil of more than twenty years remove his signature golden skates (he blamed Lilia Baranovskaya for feeding the boy with illusions of grandeur and gifting him such a blatant display of arrogance). Viktor tiptoed in his seamless socks to one of the benches, Yakov momentarily admiring the material of his student's chosen footwear. His gaze lingered a little too long, only to find Viktor smiling at him cheekily. Yakov internally cursed. "Yakov," Viktor sang, "You like my socks, don't you?"

When Yakov didn't answer him, the skater pouted. "They're really nice socks."

"I  _know_ , Vitya. You only did gift a pair to everyone in this damn rink."

"Hey, I got them on a discount since I bought more than ten pairs!"

As insufferable as he was, Yakov admitted if only to himself that Viktor possessed some sensibility to an extent.

"Forget about the socks," Yakov grunted, taking out his notebook. "Your composer friend from France was asking if you had any ideas for next season's Free Skate yet. Said they had some pre-made pieces you might be interested in."

Viktor tapped his chin thoughtfully before offering Yakov a slightly apologetic smile. "I haven't thought about it yet; do you think they can give me some more time?" He said with a laugh. Seeing the darkening expression on his coach, Viktor quickly raised up his hands in defense. "I promise! You know me more than anyone, Yakov. I'm taking this seriously."

 _'With how frivolous you are, it's hard to remember.'_ Yakov thought, but knew Viktor was telling the truth. He'd let Viktor take the reins of his programs ever since the man was sixteen; since then, Yakov had ran out of shelf space for the pictures the boy insisted they take every time he made the podium.

"Hey, Yakov?" The younger man asked. "Do you think I can compose my own music this year?"

 _'Ah, he's in one of his moods again,'_ Yakov lamented, recalling the first time Viktor had wanted to be more hands-on with the creation of his programs. Granted, Viktor turned out to be a  _magnificent_ choreographer, but Yakov felt that composing music was too much, even for his balmy but brilliant skater.

"And when, pray tell, are you going to find time to slave over the piano, huh, Vitya?" Yakov challenged. He knew the man had to take up one musical instrument for his primary and secondary education, but the skater himself told him that it was purely to make sure he got perfect marks everywhere.

"I was actually thinking along the lines of the saxophone-"

"You don't know how to play woodwind instruments! Do you even know how much stamina you need to complete a four-minute song, blowing on a goddamn saxophone?!"

"Now, now Yakov," Viktor said, laughing at his hot-headed coach. "You're definitely rubbing off on Yuratchka."

"You all could do me good and try to be less insufferable from time to time," The coach said exasperatedly, taking the moment to sit down beside his student. Viktor offered him another smile and proceeded to look at his rink mates practicing their programs on the ice. There was some sort of fluttering feeling in his chest, a kind of longing he'd been accustomed to for the past few years.

"It's been more than a decade now." The silver-haired skater said suddenly, hand absently rubbing the skin over his right rib. Yakov sighed, not trusting himself to speak of the issue. Viktor, taking it as a nod to continue, proceeded to talk. "I remember  _Babushka_ telling me that when we find each other, we'll know instantly. There would be a spark, like a lifted veil, and happiness. Pure, unadulterated joy."

Yakov kept his peace, mind non-stop in trying to find the right words to tell his student.

As they sat in comfortable silence, with just the slicing of the blades(and Yuri Plisetsky's expletives in the background), the elderly man was brought back to that one moment in the ice rink, more than ten years ago.

_He remembered Viktor, who'd just turned sixteen, skating a mesmerizing routine fit for the eyes of millions. Yakov could never forget how his student's bright eyes conveyed all his emotions, how his hair impeccably danced with him with every spin, how his smile, albeit small and almost unnoticeable, spoke volumes of the boy's jubilation. It wasn't that cheeky smile Viktor spared Yakov whenever he did something stupid that worked out for him in the end. It wasn't even that charming grin he shot the media that immediately made the world fall in love with him. It was just a humble upturn of his lips(Yakov scoffed; Viktor was anything but)._

_Viktor had just won his first Senior GPF gold, with a song he chose, a costume he helped realize and a choreography that was all his. Yakov may have stood on the rink side and gave him pointers here and there, but the older man knew he was simply an accessory, a means to the boy's objectives. After all, no self-respecting skater (and Viktor was filled to the brim with self-respect) would even think of trying to reach the podium without a coach. He almost felt that coaching the boy was too easy, that despite all the close calls he had with hypertension, Yakov could easily say that Viktor was an excellent learner. The boy lived and breathed skating, sucked inspiration out of anything, and had fun doing so. Yakov was more than proud of him, and he knew despite how rough around the edges he was to Viktor, the boy understood how their mentor-student relationship worked._

_"Vitya, time to wrap up." Yakov called from the sidelines. He really didn't want to stop watching Viktor's enchanting dance, but he'd been at it for an hour longer than he was supposed to, and Yakov would be damned if he let his most precious student break something at the start of a very promising career. The boy obediently nodded, skating to the edge where Yakov was. He want panting slightly, but his eyes shone like stars. Yakov quirked his eyebrows. "You look infatuated, boy. Which poor soul do we owe it to?"_

_Viktor laughed loudly, his unguarded, goofy-sounding laugh, and shook his head. "Me? Maybe, but I guess not yet." He looked at his coach warmly, a blush making its way to his pale cheeks. Yakov hated it when the silver-haired prodigy spoke in that confusing way of his, but before he could wring out more information of his slender frame, Viktor spoke up again. "Hey, can I tell you a secret, Coach? Or show you, really."_

_"This better not be like that time when you had Makkachin hidden in your duffel bag, Vitya. Dogs are **not** allowed in here, and have you no soul, subjecting your poor pet to such a treatment?" Yakov said exasperatedly, vividly recalling how he and Giorgi had to help Viktor clean up after the poor dog trapped in the locker room for  **five whole hours**._

_"Hey, I already apologized a million times for that!" Viktor whined, pouting at the older man. Yakov marveled at how feminine the boy still looked, despite puberty starting to rear its head. "And no, this is something different, something really personal!"_

_"Oh? What could be so important that- VITYA DO NOT UNDRESS HERE!"_

_Before Yakov could swat his pupil's hands from lifting his shirt, he caught sight of a small, but definitely pronounced image on Viktor's alabaster skin, a small, coin-sized mark just under his chest. Slowly, Yakov pulled down Viktor's shirt, staring him in the eye. Uncertainty filled those two pools of confidence, and Yakov took the hit to soften his gaze._

_"When did this appear?" He asked._

_"After my final Junior GPF gold." Viktor answered. Yakov was surprised Viktor kept mum about it for so long; that was over an entire year ago._

_"Why are you showing me something as intimate as this?" The older man asked. Viktor averted his gaze._

_"Why not?" The teen mumbled, focusing his gaze on the silver glint of his skates."_ Babushka _told me about this long ago. But she's not here anymore."_

_Yakov kept mum, tracing the symbol on Viktor's rib with his eyes. "Isn't it great, Coach?" Viktor cheered, voice hopeful. "There's one person out there especially for me!"_

The old coach smiled at the memory, recalling how hard Viktor worked to make sure he would stay on the top, to make sure that his match was somewhere out there, watching him. They had to make sure that the mark was hidden from any sort of media, however, and Yakov had a hard time making the boy understand the dangers of exposing such a vital part of him to the world. The incidences of soul mark fraud were few and far in between, almost discreetly settled due to the sensitivity of the issue, but the fact that it  _happened_ scared Yakov more than he would admit. If the world saw Viktor's mark, myriads upon myriads of frauds would encroach upon the prodigy, trying to exploit the boy's feelings, fame and money.  _'Those opportunists would have to go over my dead body before they get to Vitya.'_ Yakov huffed, getting a bit worked up from the thought anybody having the gall to introduce themselves as the legend's soulmate. At the same time, Yakov was worried that  _no one_ had tried to introduce themselves at all; of course, Viktor needed to fall in love first, but the man had skirted around the subject for a long time. Yakov supposed that he should ask him again about it.

"I pity that match of yours, falling in love at such an early age, and yet here you are, without a handle on what love is." The older man said. Yakov was caught off guard, however, that instead of Viktor's automatic lighthearted swat at his jab, he saw a fleeting glimmer of anguish in the ocean of his widened eyes. It had happened so fast that before Yakov even processed that he wanted to apologize, the skater's heart-shaped smile and mirth-filled eyes had immediately taken over.

"Oh, but I  _have_ fallen in love, Yakov! A couple of times already, actually!" He exclaimed, voice loud enough to call upon his rink mates' attention. Soon Viktor had been jogging, still in his seamless socks, towards the locker room, a teasing tongue stuck out at his coach. "I almost forgot that I have to Skype Chris later; I promise to work two hours longer tomorrow!"

And with that, he was gone.

"What's wrong with him now?" Yuri Plisetsky growled as he skated to the edge. "Seriously, he's been really weird the past few months."

Yakov massaged his temples, torn between running after the fool to apologize or staying at the rink and let him have some time alone. Looking at the handful of skaters still practicing their routines, the elderly man decided to stay for them. He could always call Viktor for a drink after practice.

***

Except, he couldn't.

Yakov was sure he was about to pop a vein as he ran to the cable car station. He had received an essay of a text message from Viktor not even ten minutes ago, stating that he was taking the season off to go to some countryside town in Japan to coach last season's GPF sixth placer, Yuuri Katsuki. Thankfully, he was able to pick out Viktor's silver hair  _anywhere_ , his overgrown poodle obediently by his side. "VITYA!" He called, uncaring if he had called upon the attention of the entire population, as long as he was able to make his presence known to his asinine protege.

"Yakov! You came to see me off!" The fool exclaimed happily, even running up to him for a hug. The elder man swung a punch at him, secretly hoping to bruise his student's face, but Viktor was as nimble on land as he was on ice.

"What is the meaning of this, you imbecile?!" Yakov growled, shoving his phone into Viktor's face. "Do you understand what quitting at the beginning of the season means?!"

"That I get an eight-month vacation?" The man supplied unhelpfully.

"You  _will not_ be able to come back, Vitya!" Yakov groaned, wishing they were at a more private place so that he could maim his student in peace. Suddenly, he was enveloped in a warm hug, Viktor's soft locks tickling his nose.

"Yakov, I think I found him." He whispered before letting go, his face inches from his coach. "I think, this is what  _Babushka_ was telling me. That I will feel it, and I will know it. That when both of us have been marked, we'd be pulled closer and closer." He paused, eyes teary and lips in the saddest smile Yakov had ever seen. "I  _want_ to be pulled away from here, and towards him. All those months ago at the banquet, I thought all I felt were fleeting emotions, but," Viktor let out a shaky breath, and Yakov couldn't remember the last time his skater had looked so nervous. "But it's  _real_ , Yakov. The longing I so desperately wished to convey with  _Stammi Vicino_ , he responded to it! Sure, it took  _months_ , but Rome wasn't built in a day!"

 _'You're killing the sportsman in you, Vitya,'_ Yakov thought morosely, knowing full well that he was fighting a lost battle. His student's eyes bared his desperation, his yearning for the type of affection only his match could provide. Yakov knew,  _oh he knew_ , if he chained Viktor now, he'd no better than killed the man. "You," he began roughly, if only to mask his impending despair, "I'm saying this again, because you always needed telling twice. If you go now, you  **will never be able to come back.** "

Viktor pulled back, a foot away from his coach ( _ex-coach_ , Yakov thought bitterly) and smiled softly. Not the sexy, lopsided grin he generously peppered the audience and the media with, not even the heart-shaped smile he used on Yakov and his rink mates to get what he wanted. The man shared an acquiesced smile with him, and Yakov knew he'd lost Viktor to Yuuri Katsuki. "I," the elder man began, "I hope this Yuuri Katsuki is your match."

Viktor nodded and boarded the cable car. Yakov balled his fists.  _"For his own sake, he **better** be your match."_


	5. Gaijin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor reaches Hasetsu, but realizes that going to a foreign country is much, much more complex than simply booking a flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you very much to all of you! It's a real treat to have this story read and enjoyed!
> 
> This chapter slows down from last chapter's intense emotions, and we just get to see Viktor getting to know the place he's destined to turn upside down!

As it turned out, visiting a different country as a tourist alone was  _very_ disconcerting compared to coming for a competition with a coach. Viktor Nikiforov had learned it the hard way, as he pulled his luggage and Makkachin from the airport, only the universal symbols in the building to guide him. Not only did he find English speakers to be scarce, the baffled Russian also realized that the people from that prefecture almost always spoke a different dialect from the standard Japanese. The skater was about to ring Yakov for help, but thought better of it. He had not exactly parted with the elder man peacefully, after all.

"It's just you and me now, Makkachin." Viktor announced to his dog, whose tongue lolled out of his furry mouth. Checking the map on his phone the Russian realized that his mobile data wasn't working, so he opted to turn on his Wi-Fi to connect to the airport's connection. Viktor opted to book a service car online to take him all the way to Hasetsu Yu-topia. He'd experienced how expensive the taxis could get when he was in Tokyo, but it suited him just fine, considering his inability to read the train signs. "We have to get there faster than CedEx, after all." He mumbled, wondering how efficient the delivery service was. If his mountain of things would arrive earlier than he, well, Viktor supposed he could be in a bit of a pinch. He just hoped that whomever Yuuri's family hired to attend to the inn were really considerate people and would keep his things at least for a few hours until he could arrive. Sure, they hadn't confirmed his reservation, but according to the online booking site, his bank statements and voucher, all he had to do was appear and it was all good.

It had been more than half a year, but Viktor supposed that Yuuri had skated his Free Program to claim his reward from the banquet's dance off.

_When the drunk Japanese skater trapped him in a hug and started humping his leg, Viktor supposed that that year's banquet had **more** physical contact than regular. Chris stood by his left, thankfully in a pair of pants, and Yuri was seething on his right, miraculously without Yakov in sight. The gold medalist was caught between squirming away and giving the man a kiss, but the absurdity of the situation prevented him from doing either._

_"What were you saying before, Viktor?" Chris cooed, amused at how red the usually cool-headed Russian's face was. "_ This _is the man whom you said hated you and turned down a photo opportunity?"_

 _Viktor spared him an embarrassed smile, before turning to Yuri. "But he did, right Yura?" The silver-haired man asked the younger blonde, who did nothing but glare at him. "Apparently, he must have been terribly shy." It felt awkward talking about the Japanese man when Katsuki Yuuri was_ just there _, more or less sexually harassing the living legend of figure skating. The Russian sighed and accepted his fate, admitting to himself that the contact was more than welcome._

 _Katsuki Yuuri had taken his hand and spun him on the dance floor, an unspoken promise made between them:_ ** _this will be a night you won't forget_ ** _. He had lead and allowed himself to be lead on the floor, intoxication not a handicap but an advantage, and Viktor would be damned if he said he wasn't enchanted. Katsuki Yuuri's steps were efficient and graceful, every movement a progression of a story the Russian did his best to stay sober for to understand. He'd had both men and women (and Chris, at which Viktor sputtered) try to entrance him with the sways of their hips and rolling of their shoulders, but the Japanese skater had only needed to use his eyes, the color of a lustful burgundy making love with innocent chocolate. He was already drowning when he realized he'd fallen, but Viktor, for the life of him, had, for once, felt how it was to breathe._

_He was taken out of his musings by unfamiliar English-Japanese gibberish(an accent? a dialect? All he understood were the words 'dance off', 'winner' and 'hot springs'), and a sudden glomp, his nostrils filling with the scent of expensive(and strong) champagne and sweat. Then, Katsuki Yuuri sealed the final nail on the coffin._

_"Be my coach, Viktor!"_

_He was_ so gone _and Yakov was going to kill him_ _, because Viktor knew he could never refuse._

The Russian smiled at the memory, laughing lightly at how he, Chris and Yuri had brought the drunken man back to his hotel room. The man's coach had been nowhere to be found, but if he were anything like his student, Viktor supposed that Celestino had passed out from being wasted somewhere in the banquet hall too. Yup, it was the best GPF banquet ever. He had wanted to reminisce more, but a soft snowfall had begun, thankfully followed by the low rumbling of his service car in a distance.

"Look, Makkachin!" Viktor motioned to his poodle, who had taken to snoozing on the waiting area of the airport. The dog immediately shot up, as if he were only waiting for his owner to call upon him. The car did not look all that interesting to him though, so Makkachin simply lied down again, keeping his eye on the approaching vehicle.

His service car was a relatively new sedan, bright blue and with just enough space for Viktor's baggage and Makkachin. His driver appeared to be in his late thirties, sporting a simple, white coat and an impressive beard. 

Halfway through the trip, the driver stroke a conversation. "Hasetsu is little sleepy town," he said in his confident, albeit broken English. "You have relative?"

"Oh, no, I am here on vacation, and maybe on business," Viktor said, adding the last part with a flourish. The driver hummed in response.

"Please don't mind, but your face is familiar." The driver commented, his voice a little uncertain. Viktor laughed lightly, a bit relieved that he wasn't that known in the small seaside town.

"Oh, I'm an athlete, a figure skater."

"Really? We have very good ice skater here in Hasetsu! He is international!" The driver exclaimed, his person exuding pride. Viktor couldn't help if he silently shared the man's admiration. "Oh, your destination, Yu-topia right? You are meeting Katsuki Yuuri- _san_?"

"Oh yes, I would very much like to speak with him!" Viktor crooned, happy that Katsuki Yuuri was quite well-known, which made his job of finding him easier.

The driver spoke no more, but when Viktor handed him his credit card to pay, the man audibly gasped. He did a double-take at Viktor, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Before they parted, Viktor found himself signing more than just the receipt.

***

" _I_ _rrashaimase_!"

" _Konnichiwa!_ " Viktor drawled his heavily-accented Japanese. The plump, petite woman who greeted him came closer, offering him a small bow. The Russian smiled that heart-shaped smile of his, immediately charming the lady. " _Sumimasen_ , my Japanese is very bad, is English all right?"

The lady looked as if she was taking a moment to process what he said, before smiling again. " _Hai_ , English is okay  _desu_."

 _'She's adorable,'_ Viktor cooed internally. "I was the one who sent the reservation and payment for a month's stay," He began, realizing how hard it was to calculate that. "Uh, would it be possible to have the room for a month, and I'll inform you during my stay if I will be extending?"

"O-oh, uh," The lady sputtered, smile still intact but a cute shade of red dusted her cheeks as she internally clawed her brain for the unfamiliar words. Viktor quickly did a bow and an apology, shooting his awfully behaved poodle a nervous glance. Makkachin simply yipped, tail wagging contentedly.

" _Kaa-san, makase nasai._ "

Viktor looked up, faced by a stoic-looking woman with black-and-blonde hair. Her face lit up with recognition right away, the Russian wondering how big figure skating was exactly in the sleepy, snowy town. "Pardon me," the younger woman said in lightly accented English, "Are you Viktor Nikiforov?"

"Oh, you recognized me!" The man laughed, bringing his hand to his nape. He silently hoped that the innkeepers weren't about to broadcast his presence to the entire world; he handled media and attention very well, but he was also worried about Katsuki Yuuri being pulled into a media circus. He'd figured that since the Japanese skater had little SNS presence, he may not be partial to being in the middle of everything. Slowly, he motioned to his dog. "This is my companion, Makkachin. He's very well-mannered and will not cause you any trouble." Viktor paused, reaching for his phone, which was oddly idle. The shorter lady patted his pet lovingly, and Viktor shot her welcoming grin. "I actually sent a reservation through your online booking partner and wired the full payment yesterday. Please wait," Viktor pulled out a folder from his suitcase, presenting his voucher and proof of payment to the woman. She took it slowly, still eyeing him in disbelief. Quickly, the Russian pulled out his passport and handed it to her. "I'm not a fraud, I swear!"

"No, no, it's not that," She stuttered, offering a low bow. "Please excuse us for a moment." She then turned to the smaller woman, and they started talking in hushed, but speedy Japanese. At one point, the taller lady seemed ready to hit her head on any nearby surface, but instead moved to the computer they had in the reception area. The man shot his poodle another worried glance, to which Makkachin responded by licking his hand. Not a minute later, the taller lady returned to where Viktor and other woman were standing, wearing a tired smile. "I'm very sorry it took so long. We've already sent a confirmation email to you this morning, regarding the board and lodging, as well as the electronic receipt. The address we used is katsuki.toshiya@yutopia.jp."

The Russian immediately checked his email on his phone, realizing that he had left the Airplane Mode on for the entire car ride. As soon as he'd turned it off, the emails and texts started pouring in. "Wow! The Japanese are so efficient!" Viktor exclaimed, reading the email from the inn.  _'Wait, Katsuki Toshiya?'_ Upon recognition, he turned to the two women, eyeing them as politely as he could. "Forgive me for my intrusion; I heard that this place is owned by the Katsukis, is that right?"

The petite woman perked up, joining in the conversation again. "Yes, we are Katsuki family here!" She said sweetly. Viktor simply blinked.

"Oh. It's a family-owned business, ran the by the actual family?" He asked dumbly. Inwardly, the skater berated himself, realizing how stupid his question sounded, even to Japanese ears.

When he tried locating Katsuki Yuuri via internet, all he got was the town he lived in, and the rink where he skated  _Stammi Vicino_. Further research led him to the inn the Katsukis owned, but he assumed that it was ran by a hotel manager and some staff.

"Yes, yes," The petite woman said, happy to have been able to understand Viktor's English. "We like customer _-sama_ to be happy, so our family work hard personally." She motioned to the beautiful interior of the dining area, filled with comfortably spaced _chabudai_ and floor cushions, potted plants and a large television against the wall. "This is home to us, we want it to be home to customer _-sama_ too."

Viktor appreciated the woman's effort to converse with him. Japanese was not something he had enough knowledge to survive on, but he understood emotions and feelings. He didn't know what she said, but he sure felt the pride and love she had for whatever it was. Thankfully, the taller woman stepped in to assist him once more.

"I apologize for this, my mother gets really emotional when she talks about something she loves." She said fondly as the woman shot her a knowing smile. "What she wanted to say is that this inn is what we call our home, and she'd want nothing more than the customers to feel like it's their home as well."

" _Deshou!_ " The shorter woman piped up. Viktor laughed, Makkachin barking at him happily. "Marichan, is Vicchan  _no_ room ready?"

"Oh, don't call him that," The lady named Marichan laughed, immediately reaching out to take Viktor's luggage. "I'll take your bags to your room, Mr. Nikiforov; my father will be escorting you and Makkachin- _san_ to the hot springs and pet area, respectively."

"Thank you, but please call me Viktor!" The Russian insisted. "Marichan, is it?"

Marichan laughed. "Mari would be fine, Mom just likes adding _-chan_ to younger people's names."

Viktor looked at her funny. "Mom, you say?" He asked, secretly sneaking a look at Marichan- _Mari_ 's so-called mother. "She looks quite young."

Mari laughed quietly. "She had me when she was pretty young." She said. "It's actually nice to have a young mother. It just meant that Yuuri and I would be able to spend more time with her."

Viktor's gaze softened. "That's... that's actually a nice thought." He tried not to dwell on that subject, until a review of Mari's statement hit him like a truck.  _Yuuri and I_. He gaped at her, stopped in his tracks, with Makkachin cocking his head to the side curiously. "Wait, you and Katsuki Yuuri are brother and sister?"

He tried not to sound offensive, but Mari looked  _nothing_ like the shy angel on ice, and definitely not the beast on the pole. Try as he might, Viktor could not connect the two faces, save for the eyes, but didn't all purebred Japanese people have brown eyes?

"Yeah, ever since twenty-three years ago, I guess." Mari joked dryly, and Viktor almost didn't catch it. She stopped walking, giving him a once over. " _Ne_ , Viktor _-san_ , are you here for my brother?"

"Oh, um, about that," The Russian stuttered, averting his gaze. Makkachin looked up at him expectantly, making the man sigh and turn to Mari. "To tell you honestly, I was waiting for him at last World's."

Mari looked down. "Yeah," she said. "Yuuri was in a dark place not too long ago."

"What happened?"

The woman appeared to have considered telling him, but didn't. "It's not my story to tell." She started, Viktor nodding in understanding.

"If he would take me, I want to be his coach." Viktor announced boldly, splaying his hand on his chest. "I see something in him; I know he's much, much better than he appears."

Mari smiled softly, and finally, Viktor sees a glimmer of resemblance between the curve of her lips, and of Yuuri's. How he had ever doubted that they were siblings, he didn't know. "We know that; I think the only person who doesn't is Yuuri himself." Mari drawled with a chuckle. She didn't turn to him, but her gaze still held the man's undivided attention. "He looks up to you a whole lot. I don't know how you ended up here, presenting yourself on a silver platter to my brother, but he'll be overjoyed. So, thank you."

Viktor nodded to her, equal parts touched and speechless. Nobody spoke for the while, and the two silently and mutually agreed that the coversation was over. "I'll go bring this up, Dad will be down in a minute to take you to the hot spring outside."

"Thank you, Marichan." Viktor said, a mischievous smirk on his face. Mari simply returned the look.

"Careful,  _Vicchan_ , I know I'm older than you."

Amused and a bit surprised, Viktor couldn't help but wonder just how the people of Hasetsu knew about him.

Secretly, he hoped it was because of Yuuri.

***

Katsuki Toshiya, the father of the household and the head of the family looked like a kind, portly middle-aged man. Apparently, he was the one who had been in charge of accepting and confirming Viktor's reservation, but had filed it away because he made the mistake of saving the form written in Cyrillic. He did however, translate the page, understanding just enough to have the reservation booked successfully.

Mari loved him so very much, but it was beyond her how Viktor Nikiforov, skating's living legend and a very decorated athlete, had booked into their inn without Toshiya recognizing the name, or at least the Cyrillic characters of it.

 _'There is like only more than fifty posters in Yuuri's room, and he'd only gushed about this man nonstop for the past decade or so,'_ Mari thought sarcastically, knowing full well she'd never say it out loud. The woman figured that she'd handle all their online transactions from then on.

Katsuki Toshiya had taken a liking to Viktor almost right away. " _Ii ne? Gaikokujin na okyakusama wa kakkoi!"_ The man said heartily, offering a few more words before laughing at Mari, who appeared to be just about done with her father.

"Don't mind him, he's just happy that a good looking foreigner's come to draw in more customers." Mari commented offhandedly, motioning his father to assist Viktor. "Dad, take Viktor _-san_ to the hot springs while I prepare his room. You'll be okay with walking his poodle around the area?"

" _Makase nasai!_ " The man laughed, Viktor recognizing the words from Mari earlier. He had to recall all the expressions used around him if he was to live there. The older man offered him a small bow. "Good day! I am Toshiya, owner of Yu-topia Katsuki! You must go to hot spring, okay? Wonderful outside hot bath. I can play with your pet."

"Wow!" Viktor exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Kneeling down to Makkachin, Viktor hugged him and placed a soft kiss on the poodle's head. "Be good to Mr. Katsuki, okay, Makkachin? I'll just go check out the bath."

The poodle yipped happily, turning to the older man, who laughed again. "You are quite cute, Makkachin _-san_ , you look like my son's departed poodle, Vicchan." He said before motioning Viktor to follow him. The Russian turned to Mari in confirmation before walking behind the man, Makkachin in tow.

 "Oh, your son, Yuuri, right?" Viktor asked as they paced the hallway.

"Ah, yes, yes, he was abroad," Toshiya explained, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Yuurichan is wonderful boy, very kind. I am happy he comes back."

"That's great! Is he here?"

"Oh yes, but asleep, maybe."

Viktor was ushered into what looked like a locker room with six-foot tall shelves and some benches. Some of the shelves were empty, save for a bath towel in each, but the filled ones always had neatly folded clothes in them. Turning to his guide, Viktor noticed that Toshiya had just entered the locker area, shutting the door behind him. The man offered him another friendly bow (Viktor wondered if bowing was a greeting or a gesture of respect). " _Sumimasen_ , your pet is wonderful, but he is not allowed here. I let him go in our garden. Our old dog Vicchan like the garden. I will go back to watch him." The man said, Viktor admiring his skill in English. Mari had been exceptional, but her mother had struggled a bit more with the language. Toshiya, however, kept on using English, errors and all, and the Russian couldn't help but admire him. The skater recalled when he was still learning the language; memorizing two sets of letters was hard enough, but Viktor dared not utter a single English word in public until he had all the conventions down. "You remove clothing here, have shower, and you go dip in bath. We have inside tub, and outside hot spring." Toshiya instructed, pointing at an empty shelf. "Put clothes here; no worry, no thieves here."

"Oh, thank you!"

He really should have felt a bit more shame as he undressed in front of Katsuki Yuuri's father, but Viktor was too excited to even care at that point. It was when he had removed his undershirt that he put the brakes on the stripping. Viktor gingerly covered the small, shiny mark on his rib with his palm, turning to Toshiya, who had his back to him.  _'Ah, they really are very polite,'_ Viktor mused as he wrapped a towel around his bare middle. "Uh, Katsuki _-san_?" He called, to which the short Japanese man immediately turned to him, smile and all. "I was wondering if you had mark patches here?"

Toshiya looked at him, puzzled. "Mark patches?" He echoed, definitely lost.

"For soul marks?" Viktor tried to supply helpfully, not really willing to show the man his mark. Toshiya's forehead creased with worry and thought.

"Ah, please wait," He said slowly, a smile creeping back onto his face. "Soul mark, you mean image on skin for your partner?"

"I think so?" The Russian man responded halfheartedly, unsure if Toshiya understood, or if he'd be prohibited from using the hot spring on a tattoo misunderstanding. The Japanese man's reaction was innocuous enough, moving to the side of the room with a drawer, and then pulling out what looked like a stack of two-by-two, flesh-colored plasters. "We call this  _kizuna engo_ , good for hiding soul mark. Best for dry activity, but okay with some water too." Toshiya paused. "Careful not to wet then dry on you; peels off."

Viktor nodded, believing he understood the instructions well enough, and took a few plasters from the Japanese man's outstretched hand. Toshiya reiterated the directions to the outside bath, then moved out of the locker room.

"It really just looks like a normal wound plaster." Viktor commented to himself as he uncovered his rib. Peeling off the  _kizuna engo_ , the silver-haired man noticed that the plaster's adhesive resembled a mix between a nosepeel and a silicon pad. He recalled that one time he went with Yakov to a sauna in Russia, where an attended handed out an adjustable felt sash for them to wear over their soul marks. Comparing the slightly uncomfortable belt to the small body sticker, however, Viktor couldn't help but admire the Japanese innovation. "Let's see here, and there!"

Patch stuck on and towel securely around his waist, Viktor confidently moved to the shower area for a quick rinse, and then went ahead to the indoor tubs. For how quiet the inn was, Viktor was surprised to see quite a number of customers chatting and laughing together. They all stopped to look at him, however, Viktor unintentionally catching a few of the younger men gawking and blushing as they seemed to admire him from below the neck.

" _Konnichiwa!_ " The foreigner greeted, answered by brief silence and belated responses. He offered a small bow, as the Katsukis frequently did, before moving. He did, however, note that almost all of the men in the room had at least two or three plasters on their bodies that greatly resembled the  _kizuna engo_ he had. Confused but not really interested, the Russian made his way out to the hot spring, the soft snowflakes dissipating into nothing the moment they reach the spring's steam.

"Wow, Yakov would definitely love to spend his day here." The man told no one in particular as he headed to the edge of the pool to check the temperature. "Shame, I left my phone inside; this would make for a great IG post."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kizuna engo is literally "bond cover". I figured that since public bath houses is a thing, people would have produced soul mark plasters for such occasions. :)
> 
> EDIT: Again, thank you to NevynSlash for pointing out that I wasn't able to put translations! Q_Q
> 
> Irasshaimase! - Come on in!  
> Konnichiwa! - Hello!  
> Sumimasen. - Excuse me.  
> Hai, desu - Yes, sentence ender (usually for statements)  
> Kaa-san - Mom  
> Makase nasai - Please leave it to me.  
> Deshou! - Probably!
> 
> EDIT: Figured that since airplane mode was on, Viktor couldn't have used mobile internet to get a car online >.< whoops; it's not really _that_ essential to the story, just a teeny bit.


	6. And So They Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri finally meet without the influence of alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! They were very kind and I feel as if I've been bestowed with some great honor for this story to have reached so many readers. Hope you all enjoy this update!  
> <3 <3 <3

"Viktor, what are you doing here?!"

 _'Rude,'_ The man in question thought, pulling the towel off his head. He hadn't even been in the bath for more than five minutes and some chubby dude wearing  _clothes_ ( _'_ Disrespectful to the  _onsen_!') hounded him as if he were a non-paying customer. The Russian was about to mouth him off, until he got a good look at the other man through the steam.

 _'Wait... He's definitely gained weight, but there's no mistaking it!'_ Viktor immediately replaced his frown with his signature killer smile, emerging from the water like some chiseled Greek god in all his naked glory. He offered his hand to him with a flourish, as if he were beckoning the Japanese man to join him in the bath. "Yuuri! Starting today, I will be your coach!" With his hands on his hips and an impending wink, he added, "You'll make it to the Grand Prix Final, and you're going to win."

Not a second later, Katsuki Yuuri let out an ungodly scream enough to wake the dead.

"Wait!!!" Viktor pleaded, suddenly very confused and still  _very_ naked, as he made his way to the hyperventilating man. "Please do not panic! I assure you, I am not a stalker!"

"N-no!!! That's not- I don't- OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!" The poor man cried as he crawled away. This did nothing to ease the Russian's gnawing curiosity, honestly shocked at being called out for not wearing anything at a bath house.

"But I am only following the hot spring guidelines! I'll put on my swimwear if my body offends you!"

"N-no!!! It's not offensive at all, it's actually very nice- _god_ , what am I saying?!"

"Why don't we head back in together, then we can talk?" Viktor offered kindly, as he tried to connect the poor, easily-panicked man to the suave vixen on the dance floor. It was  _definitely_ him, unless Katsuki Yuuri had a rounder, panicky twin brother.

Speechless as he was, Katsuki Yuuri barely nodded. Frozen in place, he helplessly watched Viktor turn around and  _bend over_ to get his towel from side of the bath. The Japanese man gulped, equal parts embarrassed and unable to turn away.  _'Yep, very nice._ ' Yuuri couldn't help but think, opting to slap himself in the aftermath.

The odd pair silently moved from the bath and to the locker room, Viktor trying to initiate small talk, but horribly failing. Try as he might, the man who enticed him on the pole at the banquet was simply not in there. The Russian decided to let it go for the moment- he coming all of a sudden must have been a complete shock- and moved to his shelf to get dressed.

He was met with none of his designer clothes; instead, he found a pair of textured, green pajamas and a note.

**_Laundry to be delivered to your room. Thank you._ **

He inspected the top and bottom (and the strange, black undergarment he usually saw on sumo wrestlers), turning to Yuuri after he was unable to wrap his head around them.

The man sputtered. "O-oh, Mom must have taken your clothes to our laundry room; she'll bring it to your room tomorrow morning, I promise!"

"That's very nice!" Viktor responded, trying to make their exchange comfortable. Yuuri had been so stiff and jumpy that the Russian simply did not know how to act. "Uh, are these my pajamas?"

"Oh, that's what we give our guests to wear around the inn. It's called a  _jinbei_ and it's very comfortable!"

Viktor hummed in response and held out the strange underwear. "How about this one?"

Yuuri's face reddened tenfold. "I-it's just underwear!!! It's disposable and you don't have to use it- EEK!!"

 _'For someone who owns a bath house, Yuuri can be such a shy man.'_ Viktor mused as he tried on the  _fundoshi_. To be honest, the front was comfortable enough, but the narrow cloth at the back dug into him too close and too deep. He supposed not wearing any underpants was worse, so he decided to work with it until he got to his room. At least the _jinbei_  was of good quality and olive looked good on him.

"All right," Viktor started, planting his fists on his hips. He eyed his Japanese companion, who'd appeared to have calmed down already. "I'd love to discuss our approach for next season, but would it be okay to have something to eat first?" He made a show of rubbing his firm stomach. "I've been in transit for the past six hours and the last meal I had was at the stopover in Seoul."

"O-of course!" The Japanese man stammered, immediately bringing the foreign guest to a private dining area. "Dinner and breakfast are complimentary, so feel free to check this menu for anything you'd like!"

"Wow," Viktor responded as he read through the dual-language menu, out of habit more than surprise. He really didn't know when he started, but he'd always responded that way to any situation he'd normally have no answer for.  _'Ah, this menu is getting hard to read.'_ He thought as the words started swimming in his line of vision, Japanese characters and Roman alphabets melding together in a nearly undecipherable script. "I'll... I'll have a serving of this spicy tuna sashimi with tempura flakes."

His voice trailed off as he finished speaking, Yuuri scampering off to place the order, too flustered to notice Viktor's sudden wave of exhaustion. The Russian's eyelids were fluttering, a yawn punctuating the silence of the room every now and then. "Huh," He said, almost a whisper. "The hot bath felt even better than I thought, even if it were just a few short minutes."

A muffled bark woke him up momentarily, the sliding door opening to let his fluffy poodle and Katsuki Toshiya into the area. Toshiya offered him a small bow, while Makkachin made it a point to tackle his master to the ground with playful licks. "Makkachin! You're unbelievably warm for someone who's been playing outside!" Viktor quipped, burying his face in the plush fur, catching the slight toasted hair scent that always came after getting blow-dried. He looked up at the eternally smiling Japanese man who simply stood by the door, hands behind his back. "Mr. Katsuki! Did Makkachin give you any trouble? You even dried and warmed him up!"

"No problem, everything okay!" Toshiya lilted, moving closer to pat the large poodle. "This boy is good; you take fast bath?"

"Ah, the bath was wonderful, but i think I should go another time after I've eaten and slept," Viktor lied, not knowing if Yuuri would be scolded if his father knew that he sort of pulled him from the hot spring by barging in the middle of his bath. "I've met with your son, Yuuri; he's bringing me some food."

"Oh! Wonderful boy," Toshiya preened, taking a seat across the foreigner, observing him. Slowly, the old man pointed to Viktor's chest. "The  _kizuna engo_ is still here. You are still hot, maybe?"

Viktor touched his rib, feeling the smooth texture of his patch, it moving slightly with every swipe of his finger. "Yes, I'm still quite warm and a little bit moist, if I say so myself!" The Russian laughed. "I will replace it later after I've had my meal, the adhesive feels a bit weaker." He smiled softly, thumbing his mark through the patch. "Hey, I noticed something while I was passing the people in the bath. Everybody had at least two or three  _kizuna engo_ on their skin; is it okay to ask why?"

Toshiya scratched his chin in deep thought. "We give many to one customer," He started, looking at Viktor. "Here, what is hidden in  _kizuna engo_ is sacred, secret. In Hasetsu, no one want to share, but everyone want to bath!" The old man laughed with mirth. "So for long time, customer _-sama_ wear many  _kizuna engo_ , so no one know where real image is, so no one know who don't have image yet."

 _'That's quite brilliant,'_ Viktor mused to himself, a bit embarrassed that he used only one patch. "I'll remember that next time and wear ten patches!"

The two men continued laughing, Makkachin contentedly watching them from the floor. "I must go," Toshiya bid him, "Wife is ready for dinner time, many people will eat. I will help."

"Thank you for your company, Makkachin and I look forward to the rest of our stay. We've only been here half an hour and everything's been wonderful!" Viktor offered him one of his rarer smiles, a simple upturn of his lips and a gentle twinkle in his eyes. Toshiya turned away before allowing himself to nurse a budding warmth in his chest, a seed of fondness planting itself deep inside the old man. Unable to speak, the Japanese inn keeper nodded to his guest and went on his way.

He almost toppled over when Yuuri abruptly appeared behind the door, rushing with a bowl of freshly-made spicy tuna sashimi. " _Otou-san_?!" His son stammered, careful not to drop the meal and the tea he had in the tray. Toshiya simply nodded to him as well, motioning that he should bring the food to Viktor. "O-okay," Yuuri responded, allowing his father to slide the door closed behind him, leaving him with Viktor and his poodle. "Sorry for the wait, but Mom's freshly made the tempura flakes, so I think you'd enjoy this very much!" Yuuri told Viktor as he set down the food. The Russian eyed him with interest, the smile he spared Toshiya still plastered on his face.

"Thank you, Yuuri! I'll sample it now- no, Makkachin, you just ate; I smelled the fish Yuuri's father fed you!" The Russian laughed, patting down a slightly put-off dog. The poodle opted to rest his head on Viktor's lap, closing his eyes. Thankful his dog made no fuss, Viktor took his chopsticks and started eating. His eyes shot open immediately.

The tuna used in the dish was fatty, and unbelievably fresh. The moment it touched his tongue, the fish almost immediately melted, spreading its natural flavor all over his mouth. He didn't really need to chew but the force of habit was hard to fight, and Viktor found himself experiencing the tenderness of the fish and the crunchiness of the tempura flakes, a perfect marriage between two textures. Coupled with the mild spiciness from the powdered chili, Viktor all but cried from how delectable his meal was.

 _'Japanese food sure is nice,'_ He thought as he inhaled the rest of the food. He'd forgotten Yuuri momentarily, reminiscing about his grandmother's home-cooked meals.  _'Babushka, you'd be so happy to sample Yuuri's inn's food!'_

"Is it to your liking?" Yuuri asked, his face bright with expectation. The older man took the time to admire his youthfulness, slightly envious of the youth present in Asian people. Yuuri could have told him that he was Yuri's age, and Viktor would have had no trouble in believing him.

"Yes, this is such a wonderful dish! Do people here in Japan have this all the time?"

"Mostly," Yuuri responded with a laugh. "Nobody eats that alone, though; it's a common  _izakaya_ appetizer; delicious, but hardly filling."

"Ah," Viktor mused, taking another bite. "So that's why it's spicy. It's made to make me eat more." The Russian man paused again, eyeing the meal carefully. "Oh well, this just means I will get to sample another dish before bedtime!"

"Right!" Yuuri chorused, laughing awkwardly.

Viktor smiled to himself as he ate, recalling an old woman with long, silky silver hair and near-blind but bright blue eyes. She'd only lived long enough to watch Viktor's first National Juniors, see him get on the podium and win his first gold, but Viktor cherished that memory more than all his accolades combined.

_An old woman sat by the rink side, beside a stern-looking couple. She appeared odd, her eyes holding innocent laughter and her mouth in a heart-shaped smile compared to the focused and calculating gazes the other two held. The trio was focused on the small, blue figure with silver hair in the middle of the ice. He looked like an ice sculpture more than anything, a young angel immortalized just when he was about to take flight. When the soft, enigmatic sounds of a music box played in the background, the sculpture came to life, stiff, frigid ice turning into a lithe flow of water._

_There were thousands of people watching the embodiment of grace waltz across the ice, in awe at how someone so small could have a presence large enough to encompass the entire rink with his magic. No one dared to breathe, clap or cheer; even the commentators were silent, offering only brief, whispered descriptions that did no justice to the spring of emotion painting a picture of his story, laying it bare to all those who wished to see. He'd pushed the limits of his body and got away with making it look almost second-nature, the honest feelings his visage expressed showing none of the exhaustion he must have felt._

_As the music picked up and more, heavier instruments joined in on the second half, the people had begun to stand on their feet, and despite having a large screen project his movements, everyone had wanted to lean in and see the birth of a legend with their own eyes. Inevitably, the piece ended and the spell of silence was broken not too long after._

_It started with a few dazed people clapping, everyone gradually realizing that they were able to move already, following suit, until the entire place rumbled with applause and standing ovations. Almost everyone marveled at the young boy in the middle of the ice, taking one bow after another, as fans tossed him plastic-covered roses and plush toys to no end. Finally, even the commentators were able to snap out of it, standing and applauding the boy from where they sat._

_"And then you have it, the prince- no, the **god** of ice has been born!"_

_The boy didn't care about the ridiculous nickname, just enough to wish it to never stick, and began collecting as may plush poodle toys as he was able to, leaving the flowers to the ice attendants. He was ushered straight to the Kiss and Cry with his coach and his choreographer, a record-breaking score announced a few moments later. The boy cheered as he was brought back on the ice, to be extolled by the masses as he took his place on the highest podium. Numerous cameras nearly blinded him, asking him_ 'Please look here, and here, and here.' _The boy was obedient, facing wherever they wanted him to, but his eyes were only ever looking at the old lady by the benches._

 _"Did you see me up there,_  Babushka?" _Thirteen-year-old Viktor asked_ _as he draped himself on his grandmother's lap, both of them supported by her sturdy wheelchair. His grandmother's wrinkled hands ran through his cheek-length hair, a smile on her face. Viktor's smile widened as he removed his medal from his neck and with little struggle, placed it on the old lady. He leaned closer, as if to tell his grandmother a secret, and then whispered. "I'll win more and more medals like you said, so that my soulmate can find me!"_

_"You are a wonderful, wonderful boy, Vitenka," She said, peppering Viktor's face with soft kisses as she gazed at him with much love. "Not once did I take my eyes off you."  
_

_Viktor laughed. "Silly_ Babushka _, I know you couldn't see past two feet!" He cuddled her nonetheless, clouding himself in his grandmother's subtle perfume._

_"Oh, but it's true, little one," The old woman cooed, holding him close, ignoring all the flashes of the cameras. Viktor scrunched his eyes; the flashes were a bit too bright. "I saw a little, blue blur with a silver head, I heard the motions and slicing of your skates, and I felt you pour your heart and soul to the dance you've performed." She paused, caressing Viktor's cheek, staring directly into his large, azure eyes. "I am blind, but not even these white films over my eyes could stop me from watching you. Vitenka, I could not turn away."  
_

_"You mean that?" The child asked, eyes filled with tears and wonder. His grandmother nodded, bringing him up to stand straight. They were at eye-level, and soon the medal was around the boy's neck once more._

_"You enthrall the audience," She said, almost like a declaration, with so much emotion that it felt that she was proclaiming it to the entire building despite how soft her voice really was. "_ _My little Vitenka, my precious gem, I'm so happy that all of Russia is able to share my love for you."_

 _"_ Bab'ka," _Viktor sobbed, pushing himself towards the old woman once more. He knew he really shouldn't, as he's not as small as he used to be, but his grandmother seemed to have saved up just enough strength to hold him a little longer still. "I love you best in the whole, wide world!"_

 _"And I, you, my little gem," She responded, hugging him just a tad tighter. "Someday, not only Russia would love you. Europe will love you, and so will the rest of the world, I just know it." She paused, moving to touch the boy's forehead with her's. "When that time comes, remember this old lady's feelings, won't you, Vitenka? For now, my precious, unmarked child, this old lady will love you the most in this world." A pause and a quiver dotted her stumbling speech. "But someday, your match_ will _come, and that person will love you more than I."_

 _"How will I know? How can someone love me more than you,_ Babushka _?"_

 _His grandmother nuzzled his forehead, her silver locks tickling the young skater's nose. "Oh, you will know. **Sud'ba**_   _will move heaven and earth to bring you two together. So please, remember my love for you, my child; once you find your match, their feelings will far eclipse mine, and then you will be sure."_

_Viktor giggled as his grandmother's hair tickled his nose more. "Okay. I'll skate better and brighter, so that my match will find me." He laughed, holding the woman tighter. "But until then, I'll keep on skating my stories, so that you may continue to see."  
_

_The grandmother said no more, opting to cuddle her grandchild more affectionately, continuously brushing her hair against his nose. The boy felt the tickling feeling intensify, but he didn't want to let go just yet._ 'Just a little more time, just a tad more,' _Viktor prayed._

" **Achoo!** "

" _Ah, okita_."

Viktor opened his eyes, first noticing the very familiar fur of Makkachin, and then the not-so- familiar Japanese design of the room he was in. Groggily sitting up from the floor ( _'What am I doing sleeping on the floor? This won't be good for my back'_ ), Viktor turned left and right, spotting two Japanese people observing him.  _'Had I been kidnapped?'_ He thought, touching his strange, green clothes and his skin beneath them, and to check for any anomalies that could be on his body.  _'There's nothing weird,_ ' He thought as his hand felt nothing but the smooth expanse of the skin on his torso; he slowly turned to look at Makkachin, still asleep.  _'Maybe not kidnapped; I feel too warmhearted to be in a bad situation.'_

The moment his stomach growled at him, however, to remind him of his hunger, Viktor immediately recalled that he was in Japan, and one of two Japanese people in the room with him was Katsuki Yuuri, the sixth placer he'd crossed the world to coach. "Hungry," He muttered, rubbing away the sleep in his eyes. He recalled eating such a good tuna dish, but he couldn't remember ever falling asleep. Apparently, his stomach had forgotten that he was full as well and demanded more sustenance.

"O-one second!" Katsuki Yuuri said, immediately leaving the room, the Japanese woman staying behind. He smiled at her, and the crossed expression on her face disappeared.

"Hi. My name is Viktor Nikiforov." He introduced, petting his dog. The woman looked quite familiar, but he couldn't place a name to the face. Instead of trying to guess, the Russian thought it wise to let her decide if she'd tell him her name.

"Oh, right," She said, eyes wide with shock. "I'm Okukawa Minako."

 _'Wait,'_ The man thought, his memories rolling back to an almost insignificant time with Yakov's ex-wife, Lilia Baranovskaya, when she had taken him to one of the ballet awarding ceremonies several years back. "Are you a ballet dancer?"

"Yep, but I'm just an instructor now; been retired for a few years." She said offhandedly, offering him a smile. "You're really here."

"Yes, I am."

Minako let out a low whistle. "Were you bored?" She asked, her voice with no bite. Viktor, however, wondered if she was waiting for him to dig his own grave, or was she simply sharp-tongued.

"No," He responded, a bit wary about answering. "His video inspired me, drew me to him like a moth to the flame. I saw something brilliant," he paused with a smile, "And I simply could not look away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sud'ba (судьба) - destiny  
> Izakaya - drinking restaurant  
> Ah, okita - Oh, he's up.
> 
> EDIT: After being so kindly pointed out by NevynSlash, I went back through the chapters to check if I used Japanese without translations >.> Thank you!
> 
> Finally! Six chapters in and I've finally covered the events leading to episode 2 XD Still unsure where the story will diverge, but I'd like to follow the anime's plot line as faithfully as I can without sacrificing the heart of this story.


	7. Those Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Viktor flew to Japan, he'd left a mess back home at St. Petersburg. Yuri is pissed, Mila is wistful, and Georgi, well, is more than just bitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda wanted to slow burn this story, so I hope it isn't too boring!  
> This chapter was a bit tricky to write, and there's a lot of dialogue!

Viktor Nikiforov was a loose cannon.

As brilliant as he was, the man never learned from his mistakes; to his credit, however, mostly everything worked out for him in the end. After all, no one could deny the legend pardon, regardless of whether or not he'd asked for it in the first place. Viktor would make the same mistake twice, just to be sure, and a third time, to see if a change in perspective would overturn the error. If yes, he'd stick to that tactic until it's no longer applicable; if no, then well, Viktor would overwrite his entire approach, starting from square one.

With that said, Viktor Nikiforov was, in all intents and purposes, a beautiful, ever-evolving monster.

He reinvented himself every single season, and the the skating world hinged on his every performance. Viktor was a valiant soldier in one skate, a cursed princess in the other. He set the bar higher and higher, until the living legend was no longer a contender, but simply a monument other skaters measured themselves again.

_"Check it out, coach! I'm only twenty points behind Nikiforov!"_

_"Good job, son! When Viktor was your age, he got scores just a few measly points higher!"_

Everybody who stood on the ice wanted to be Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuri Plisetsky was no different.

To be honest, he had no idea who the silver-haired man was until he attended his first local competition. He was only eight and wasn't allowed to participate, but Yuri was happy enough to be able to watch so close to the rink.

It really was just a small competition, some elaborate scheme to promote the new mall in Moscow with a decently-sized rink. The medals were generic and most probably store-bought, and the cash prize was too small to be of any importance.

So when a tall, slender man who looked too old to compete took center stage, Yuri couldn't help but raise one eyebrow in intrigue. He looked too young to have silver hair, but with how pale he was, the short, lightly colored locks just made him look like an immortal ice god. Yuri had never been more thankful he took such a close seat when he witnessed the man open his eyes, and reveal the bluest pools he'd ever seen.

When Viktor Nikiforov skated, Yuri Plisetsky's mind only held onto one, solid thought.

_"I want to be just like him."_

***

"I will  _maim_ him."

"Now, now, Yuri; Viktor is a big boy now, he can go chase whomever he wants, even if said person is across the globe!" Mila Babicheva said lightly, a teasing smile on her face. "Besides, isn't this a good opportunity for you to take the crown while the king is away?"

"Why the hell would I want to do that, hag?!" Yuri spat, his face intense with unbridled anger. "Here's this guy, this  _asshole_ , who uproots himself and latches onto that fucking Japanese idiot like a leech! What does he even got to gain here?!"

Mila ignored the boy's expletives, tapping her chin in deep thought. "Who knows," she drawled, her voice slightly sad, frowning at the sudden turn of events. The day Viktor left, she'd seen a strange expression on his face. Mila had been training on the same rink with Viktor for almost ten years already, and though they'd rarely talked outside the rink, the silver bundle of optimistic, confident energy was a constant comfort to her. She had no special memories with the silver haired skater; nothing like the obviously one-sided rivalry and awkward friendship Georgi Popovich shared with him, not even the rough mentor-protege-slash-annoying-big brother-angry-little-brother relationship he had with Yuri Plisetsky. What she had, however, was something minute: a consistent glint of gold on clear ice, a familiar laugh from across the rink, a blur of black, white and silver passing her with a wink and a smirk. They were things she'd never really given any thought to, moments she never thought she'd miss.

(She did.)

"Damn it!" Yuri screamed, breaking Mila out of her trance. "How is it that he's been gone a  _whole day_ without an IG post?!"

"Still trying to locate your hero, I see," The redhead teased, earning a snarl she'd grown secretly fond of. "He'll post sooner or later; Viktor can't be without social media for very long, after all."

Yuri stomped angrily towards the rink, removing his blade guards and furiously skating his frustrations away. Mila winced at how rough his steps and slides were, and with how much ice he'd shaven and kicked up, the woman felt real bad for the maintenance personnel of their rink. "Aw, and I'd just seen them tuck away the Zamboni an hour ago." She tutted, resting against the rink side. She knew she should have been skating as well, but with the madman performing a figurative massacre, Mila knew she'd rather face Yakov's wrath instead.

"Yuri's scaring off the newbies." Georgi Popovich noted as he skated away from the rabid boy and to Mila. Putting on his guards, the man took his place beside the red-head. "I bet Coach is still trying to iron out Viktor's mess  _again._ "

"Eh, whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, Coach always front-lines for Viktor," Mila chastised, noting the bite in Georgi's words. Slowly she raised her head to look at her companion. "Do you know why he left?"

"Beats me," Georgi dismissed, only to lean closer to Mila. "Didn't he say he was Skyping Christophe Giacometti that day? What on earth could those two idiots have talked about that shot Mr. Living Legend all the way to Japan?" He paused, rubbing his head in frustration. "I refuse to believe that Viktor simply left us,  _all of this_ , to coach that little Japanese nobody."

Mila hummed, thinking back to the banquet they'd attended the year before. "I don't think Yuuri Katsuki's a nobody to Viktor, you know. Don't you remember the banquet?" She supplied. "They danced all night, and when Viktor wasn't waltzing with him, he was watching Yuuri Katsuki with either Chris or Yuri."

Georgi's cold eyes softened almost drastically, some sort of enlightenment falling over him. "I... see." He trailed of, brushing his thumb against his lower lip in deep thought. Mila nudged him when he spoke no more.

"Hey, what do you think? Did you figure it out?"

The man hummed, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. "I'm not sure because I've never seen this happen to him before," he said carefully, as if he were sharing a secret, "But I think Viktor fell in love with Yuuri Katsuki."

Mila was obviously going to protest, so Georgi raised his hand, motioning that he wasn't done. "Wait, just hear me out, and I'm just telling you because you're one of the few rink mates we've been with for a _long_ time." Georgi pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get the words out properly. "Tell me: have you ever seen Viktor's family in any of his events? Like at all?"

The redhead scrunched her eyebrows, and the older male swore he heard the grinding of gears in her head. "Now that you mention it," She started, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I've never seen anyone else at his competitions other than us and Coach. Not even past lovers, really."

"That's because Viktor's never had a past lover, that coward," Georgi pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, as if reminiscing a particularly off memory. "Anyway, neither Viktor nor Coach had ever mentioned his family, so I just assumed that Coach had adopted him and got lucky. Viktor  _did_ live with him until Coach was sure Viktor wouldn't burn his apartment down by frying eggs. Now that I think about it, there was one time I saw someone else with him by the rink side."

"Oh? Did you get to meet them?"

"Eh, no," Georgi shook his head, eyes focused as if to prevent himself from letting the memory slip away. "It was a really long time ago, about fifteen years, actually." Mila let out a low whistle, but kept quiet. "I thought Viktor was a girl at that time because he was so damn clingy to an old lady on a wheelchair, and it didn't help that his hair was a tad longer than Yuri's. The old woman was definitely related to him; she'd been wrinkly, yeah, but only a blind person would deny that Viktor was her grandchild."

"Okay, so Viktor had a grandma; what does this have to do with being in love with Yuuri Katsuki?" The woman asked, clearly confused. Georgi glared at her.

"Well, if you'd let me finish, you'd get to hear the _whole_ story!" He bit.

"Well, if you'd stop making so many dramatic pauses, I'd  _know_ that it wasn't the whole story!"

**"My, are we practicing for the Grand Prix Bench Warming Competition?"**

 Chills ran up the two skaters' spines as their old coach approached them with a choleric frown. Mila gulped as she noted the visibly throbbing vein on the side of Yakov's head, equally afraid of getting yelled at and of her coach getting a stroke. "Let's hear your excuses, hm?" The old man spat, gazing at the two coldly. Georgi sighed and pointed to the maniac on the ice rink. Apparently, Yuri had not stopped mangling the ice, and surely enough everybody else had evacuated the rink in fear of being a casualty. "Goddamn it..." The elder muttered, face in his hand as he slowly made his way to the rink. "YURATCHKA. GET YOUR SCRAWNY LITTLE ASS BACK HERE!"

"Damn, we're gonna get an earful," Georgi whispered, hoping that Yakov wouldn't hear him. Luckily for him, the old man had taken to having a scream-off with the blonde boy who'd yelled at the elder all the same. Georgi cringed; only Viktor and Yuri got away with pissing Yakov off, but he surmised that the privilege came with the raw talent the two skaters had.

"Well, if you'd just tell me what the hell Viktor is up to, I  _might_ calm down!" Yuri screeched, his prepubescent voice cracking. He was definitely unrelenting, a small vessel of pure ire.

"Why do even give a damn, Viktor gallivanting around Japan's got nothing to do with your upcoming events!" Yakov growled, exasperated beyond reason. He turned around to the two silent bystanders on the bench. "You two! What Viktor does is Viktor's business, not mine, and definitely not yours. Now get your dead weights off that bench, it's time to warm up."

"Yes Coach!"

Yuri could only watch in contempt as his seniors began stretching by the rink side. Yakov had busied himself with giving pointers on the other side to the rookies he'd spooked out moments before, not even sparing him a glance. The boy was so,  _so_ pissed, but there was no one he could explode at, not that that was the proper way to handle his rage. "Damn you, Viktor," Yuri muttered as he removed his skates and snaked his way into the locker room, unnoticed. There were several hours left before practice actually ended, but if Viktor could skip practice for  _a whole year_ , Yuri supposed he could do it for a day.

***

To Yakov's chagrin, Yuri's skip for a day turned into a skip for a few weeks.

"So Yuri went to Japan too, huh?" Mila huffed, almost jealous that she didn't think of tailing Viktor like her junior did. "You think we can take a vacation like that, Georgi?"

"I'd rather not," The man waved off, focusing on the videos Mila had taken of him as he practiced his Short Program. He noted all the missteps and under-rotations he made, making sure not to miss any opportunities for improvement. With Viktor and Yuri gone, after all, it was all up to him to uphold Russia's pride. He sighed, scratching his head in frustration. "Crap, this is such a tough program."

"Well, you had Viktor meddle with it a bit, of course it's going to be a bit harder." Mila deadpanned, slinking next to him to watch. "I guess you should be thankful he didn't make  _everything_."

"As if I'd let myself owe him my entire Short Program."

"Suit yourself," Mila quipped, cradling her cheeks with both her hands. "If Viktor offered to choreograph for me, I'd take it in a heartbeat, you know! Those two Yuris are so lucky!"

"It's not like he made those  _for_ them," Georgi mumbled, closing his video player and going on Instagram. Immediately, he was met with a repost of Viktor's ridiculous Hot Springs on Ice poster, with their favorite skater right in the middle, sporting some Godfather-esque look. The dark-haired man rolled his eyes, opting to scroll past it, only pausing to look at a new post from his ex-girlfriend. Immediately, his eyes teared up at all the memories he'd shared with the ice dancer, when Mila swiped his phone from him. "Hey!"

"Stop looking at her posts!" She chided, sparing one look at the picture and closing the app. "How on earth are you going to move on if you keep on following her on SNS?!"

 "I can't help it!" Georgi mewled, grabbing his phone back. "There was just too many memories between us, and I love her so much."

Mila rolled her eyes, but patted her friend's back. "Why did you date her anyway? You know it could end up badly."

Georgi simply hung his head in shame as response.

_"I got my mark."_

_Georgi's eyes shone with joy, deflecting the dejected gaze his girlfriend, Anya, was sporting._ 'She's just shy.' H _e thought. Slowly, he held her hand, pressing a cool, leather box to the knuckles. Anya's eyes shot up, wide and perturbed, but Georgi kept pushing down all his fears and doubts._ 'I love her, and now my feelings have been realized.'  _He encouraged himself, pressing his forehead to hers._ 'I love her, and we'll be together for the rest of our lives.'

_Anya's eyes filled with tears as she pull away from Georgi, pushing back the small box. The man, taken aback, tried not to lose it, shout at her or cry, because there must have been an explanation, a reason other than-_

_"We don't match."_

_So when Anya walked away, Georgi let only his eyes follow._

"Hey Coach, do you need us to get Yuri back?" Georgi suddenly asked, voice uncharacteristically calm. Yakov merely shook his head.

"No, let the brat be." The elder answered, rubbing his bald spot. "This gives us time to work on that Free Skate of yours. Let Vitya worry about Yuri's Short Program, give him a little bit of the hardship that comes with being a coach."

"Okay. And Coach?"

"What is it now, Georgi?"

The taller man pulled the coach gently to the side, away from the rest of the rink. Yakov raised a grayed eyebrow at his student, a rare look of curiosity beset on him. Georgi leaned in, voice barely more than a whisper. "Can you tell me why Viktor  _really_ flew to Japan? I refuse to believe he'd suddenly found inspiration from seeing a video of Yuuri Katsuki, and that this is just one of his over-the-top schemes to continue surprising the audience."

The old man glared at Georgi, but the skater was not fazed. Looking away, Yakov started to speak. "This is not my story to tell, nor is it your business to care." He paused, heaving slightly. "If I were you, I'd take advantage of the situation and make Vitya regret leaving the competition by taking away his beloved gold."

The skater still stood his ground. "He fell in love, didn't he?" Georgi said, more a statement than a question. "He remembered the Japanese drunk at the banquet who had the gall to ask him to be his coach, then break off contact for more than half a year."

"Don't be foolish, Vitya would never-"

"He choreographed _two Short Programs about love_." The skater pushed, recalling all the long hours Viktor spent on the ice when they knew Yakov wouldn't be checking up on them. He'd let him observe once, a last ditch effort to get the dark-haired skater's mind off his ex, and Georgi was more than happy to watch. "I know he had a different program planned for this year; he'd yapped endlessly about his theme _Resurrection_  and how his French buddy was brilliant at putting together a magnificent piece for the Free Skate."

"You're treading waters you shouldn't cross." Yakov warned, his voice grave, and Georgi finally faltered. "What is it with all of you? Yuratchka, the blasted boy, tailed after Vitya, no holds barred. Mila badgers me endlessly about when they're coming back. And now you, and I'm punctuating this because it's you of all people, you are asking me if Vitya's fallen in love?"

Georgi could not longer help himself.

"Are they a match?!" He blurted out, regretting it almost instantly. The question was a serious itch everyone on their rink was dying to scratch, but nobody wanted to ask first: they all knew the repercussions of being too invested in other people's marks. Yakov had been on everyone's case regarding keeping the presence or absence of a soul mark a secret starting from day one, tirelessly enumerating the dangers of letting that tiny piece of information slip.

"It's as if I'm coaching a bunch of concrete walls," The older man muttered, eyes downcast, face painted with disappointment. Slowly, he took out his phone, tapping a few keys on the screen before shoving the device in Georgi's face. The skater's breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat. "Ask him yourself."

The skater stared wide-eyed at Viktor's contact photo on Yakov's phone, a notification telling him that the call was currently being connected.

**Ring, ring**

"I can't ask him that!" Georgi seethed, appalled at how his coach decided to handle the situation. Yakov simply raised an eyebrow.

"Hm? You were bold enough to go behind his back and ask me; this shouldn't be too hard for someone as audacious as you."

 **Ring, rin-**   _"Yakov! You called!"_

The coach and the student were at a stalemate, the latter frozen with terror and shame, and the former simply waiting for him to move.

_"Huh? Ya-ko-v! Why aren't you talking? You missed me, didn't you?"_

Viktor's teasing tone was only making it worse, the guilt eating at Georgi more than he thought.

_"Oh! Is this about Yuri? He's right here! Don't worry, I'll watch him for you-"_

**Click.**

Yakov watched stoically as Georgi pulled his hand back from his phone, his student's eyes glistening with un-shed, remorseful tears. Sighing, the old man pocketed his phone and frowned upon the skater. "If you cannot bring yourself to go directly to him, you might as well let go of all this foolishness and focus on your training."

It took a few moments, but Yakov finally got to hear the words he'd so longed for.

"Yes, Coach."

***

_"I went after her without making sure that we were a match, damn it!" Georgi slurred, two bottles of vodka already laid empty on the ice rink. He and Viktor had sneaked in their rink with their skates and alcohol that night, hoping that the maintenance would not rat them out to their surly coach. The dark-haired man, who was sitting on the thick windbreaker placed on the ice, grabbed another bottle from their stash and continued to drink. "I loved her, but I should have known when her mark didn't show as soon as I fell."_

_"You can't blame yourself, Georgi," Viktor responded, face unusually somber and voice missing its signature cheer. Georgi scoffed, unsure if he should feel honored to have_ the _Viktor Nikiforov sympathizing with him, or offended that his rival obviously pitied him. The silver-haired skater slid peacefully in front of him, making numerous figures of eight with his blades. "You were truly in love; I saw it in your eyes. You cannot fault yourself on that."_

_Georgi let out a bubbly, sarcastic laugh. "S-so whose fault is this?! I loved her more than anything! I think she loved me too, she should have!"_

_The Living Legend stopped moving, sparing Georgi a sorrowful gaze, which instantaneously set him off._

_"Don't look at me like that!" He cried, moving to stand up, but miserably falling back onto his butt, drunkenness preventing him from balancing on the slippery surface. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"_

_He felt two, strong arms snake from behind him, hooking under his armpits and helping him to his feet. "Let's get you home, okay? We can continue talking there; I can't have you hurting yourself here." Viktor let out a soft giggle. "Besides, wouldn't it be grand if we were able to sneak in, drink a bit, and sneak out of here without Yakov knowing? We'll look at his face and laugh, and he'd never know why!"_

_At this point, Georgi began to cry silent, bitter tears, shooting resentful glares that he didn't mean to his companion. "You've got it easy, you know that? You'd never know how I feel!" He groaned, letting Viktor bring him to the side of the rink. "Not everyone can be as handsome, talented and charismatic as you; you don't have to work for anyone to like you; everyone will gladly throw themselves at your feet and all you need to do is choose!"_

_"Now, now; that's just the alcohol talking." Viktor responded lightly, hurt slightly audible in his words. "C'mon, Georgi, let's get out of here before Yakov finds and kills us."_

_"You know? When her mark appeared, she just said we didn't match," Georgi droned on as he was deposited to a bench. "She never even showed me! Just said we weren't a match!"_

_Viktor skated back to the center of the rink, grabbing Georgi's jacket and the abandoned bottles, waiting his companion's rant to end so that they could leave. Georgi, however, was gatling gun with unlimited ammo. Unfortunately for Viktor, he was the sole target for that night._

_"I bet a lot of people have told you that they're your match!"_

_"Georgi, let's slow down a bit, okay?" Viktor whined, placing the bottles in a plastic bag and the windbreaker on Georgi. What caught him off-guard were his friend's rabid eyes, and in a moment, Viktor was on the floor. Georgi had straddled him, blue on blue, hands firmly planted on his shoulders. Viktor, too shocked for words, silently waited for the man to speak._

_"I bet you can get away with pretending to be anyone's match and tossing them aside once you've gotten bored!" The dark-haired skater accused, fingers digging into Viktor's skin painfully. "And you've done it too, haven't you? God, you did it, and t-they forgave you, those idiots!"_

_"Georgi, stop, I've never done anything like that." Viktor murmured, voice suppressed by the weight on him. Georgi stared his friend down, noting the soft contours of the silver-haired skater's face, the near-invisible creases at the corners of his gem-like eyes, and the tender shade of_ _peach on his lips._ _Viktor was beautiful, Georgi begrudgingly noted, and anyone who'd turn him down was a fool._

_"I-I wish I was like you, damn it! If I were you, Anya would have stayed, marks be damned!" Georgi cried, burying his face in the crook of Viktor's neck as he wept. "God, I w-want to be just like you. Why can't I be fucking like you?"_

_Viktor simply lied there, neither pushing nor cradling Georgi, silently and patiently accepting each sharp-cutting word intended to hurt him._

Georgi knew he was drunk and had said so many painful words to Viktor that night, words he'd been too ashamed to apologize for. As he moved with half the grace required to perform Viktor's choreography, the skater's mind flew to his silver-haired friend in Japan.

"I don't want to be like you anymore," he whispered, performing a flawless Quad Salchow. The skater spared one glance at his coach by the sidelines, tearing his gaze right away.

"So please, I hope you won't end up like me."


	8. Yuri's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is sick and tired of playing house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!! You guys are the best. I'm so happy with how many people have found and read this story. I hope you all enjoy!

_'Huh, must have been a butt dial._ ' Viktor thought as he tucked his phone away. He was just about to head over to Minako's Kachu Snack Bar to check up on Yuuri after his protege stumbled out of the inn. True, the Japanese skater did just tell them he'd thought of pork cutlet bowls when questioned about sexual love, but Viktor didn't want to judge him. Maybe he was food-sexual. If the sight of a sensual bowl of borscht drove Yuuri to drink and strut on the pole back in Sochi, Viktor was willing to lay down all the world's finest at Yuuri's feet.

"Huh, did you tell him I was here?" Yuri growled from the  _chabudai_ , face still stuck on the warmed wooden surface.

"It's not like you haven't posted several pictures on IG with your location on, you know." The elder Russian shrugged, moving to leave the dining area.

"Hey, where are you going?" Yuri yawned, the exhaustion finally apparent on his face. Viktor silently cooed at the boy's near-angelic expression; Yuri was all half-lidded eyes and long, golden lashes, so it wasn't all too hard to find him cute. The elder decided to kneel beside him and observe the teenager a bit more. Yuri really was beautiful. "Viktor... What the fuck do you... want...?" If only he had a cleaner mouth.

"Yura, you're already half-asleep." Viktor laughed, placing an arm around the blonde's slender frame. "Come on, we need to get you to your room."

Yuri yawned once more, too tired to protest or give a damn, and simply leaned into Viktor's chest. The elder hooked his free arm under the teenager's knees, lifting him with ease, and maneuvered his other arm properly to cradle Yuri's upper torso comfortably. "Really now, Yura," Viktor whispered, "Coming here straight from Russia without telling anyone? You're taking after me more than you'd like to, I'm afraid."

"Mmm.. shut up, your fault."

A soft rumble vibrated against the dozing boy. "I guess I'll take full responsibility," Viktor laughed.

Viktor made his way to Yuri's designated room, sliding the door open with his foot. He didn't know if there were Japanese customs about what can and cannot be used to slide a  _shoji_ door, but he was carrying Yuri, so Viktor supposed that he'd be forgiven. "Oh, Yura, you're very light! Yakov must not be feeding you all too well." The elder jested as he placed the blonde on the bed. The teenager barely stirred, and the older man decided that he was finally completely asleep. "Good night."

"Vikt'r... no wait,"

 Yuri groaned, opening his eyes as wide as he could, beryl eyes pleading him to stay. _'Ah, Yura looks quite innocent, vulnerable even.'_ Viktor thought, suppressing a giggle. _'He'll kill me if he knew I thought that of him, though.'_ Softly, he made his way back to Yuri's bedside, the teenager's eyes following him lazily. "I'm here."

"Asshole." The boy grumbled, reaching out to throw a halfhearted, poorly aimed punch at the silver-haired man. Viktor graciously took the hit or his shoulder, smiling at the blonde warmly. "You left us," Yuri spat, a little bit more awake, but still very asleep. Clumsily, he grabbed Viktor by his collar, grip weak but solid. "Why? What was so special about that pig that you left your home for this godforsaken country?!"

Viktor sighed, gently holding onto Yuri's soft hand. "But Yuuri  _is_ special, in ways I couldn't put to words." The elder whispered, voice low and too mature to be his. Yuri's grip on his  _jinbei_ tightened, crinkling the soft material in the boy's balled fist. "I don't expect you to understand me, why I'm doing this," Viktor continued, rubbing Yuri's hand gently, hoping that the repetitive, calming motions would be enough to lull the irate boy to sleep. "There is something in him I see that I want to share with the whole world. Yuuri's destined for greatness, I can just feel it, and I want to be the one who helps him achieve it."

"Wasn't  _I_ destined for greatness too?"

Taken aback, Viktor silently continued his ministrations, allowing himself to be swallowed up by the pits of boiling anger in Yuri's eyes. He decided that he'd stay silent until he was sure that the boy had finished sharing his piece. "Three years ago, you told me I was destined for greatness, and that you'll help me! You'll help me reach the top!" Bitter tears pooled in his eyes but Yuri did not dare let them fall. "I hung onto your every word, damn it! I trained and trained until I was good enough to stand audience to you! Then what?! You decide that I'm not worth your time, and you fly here for your flavor of the month?!"

As sleepy as he was, Yuri didn't fail to notice how Viktor's eyelids twitched, or how he bit onto his lower lip, his expression turning grim and downcast. "Why aren't you talking?! Why!?" Yuri growled, then fully awake. "Where's your smart ass excuse? Aren't you going to tell me that you forgot again like always?"

The older man had long given up trying to hold a poker face, and Yuri secretly felt bad that he was mouthing off someone who didn't fight back or brush him off. Viktor was just there, continuously rubbing his arm and taking in all his unkind words like a sponge. "Talk, damn it!"

"I'm sorry," Viktor whispered, looking up to meet his junior's eyes. "I didn't forget, I promise you. I swear, I had my schedule planned out; choreographing my programs, your programs, everything! But then..."

The two Russians stared into each other's eyes, burning celadon engulfing placid turquoise, both wary to make the first move. "You set up this elaborate farce, pit that pig against me, and for what? Do you seriously think that I believe that this is an actual contest?" The boy said, only a ghost of fury left in his bite. "Pork Cutlet Bowl's already won this, whether he knows this or not. I'm just the unlucky bastard you so happened to have chosen to play the fool."

"Don't say that; despite what you think, this skate  _will_ be judged fairly." Viktor cut in, a little bit too quickly. "I have no doubts in Yuuri's ability and talent, but that does not mean I'm discounting and downplaying your own genius." Viktor hesitated before running a hand through his hair.

"Then why did you choose to coach him? Why go through all the trouble of running after that loser when I was just there at the rink?"

"You know he asked me; Yuuri's waited long enough."

"And _I've_  waited for far longer!" Yuri seethed, grabbing Viktor once more by his shoulders. " _This_ is not because you simply found untapped talent. Now tell me,  **why am I going to lose to Yuuri Katsuki**?"

Viktor preferred not to answer. The younger of the two fought between pulling him closer or pushing him away, before settling on keeping him at an arm's reach. Just in case he needed to throttle the older man. "I," Viktor began, piercing through Yuri's defenses with his gaze, "I will  **never** choreograph a losing piece." The man gently removed Yuri's hands from his shoulders, placing his own on the teenager's cheeks. "Eros and Agape were birthed with gold in mind; I wasn't lying when I assigned my pieces to both of you." Viktor offered Yuri a smirk, a challenge of sorts. "I'll win if I skated either of them; won't you?"

***

With a clearer head and a more critical analysis of the pieces, Yuri begrudgingly agreed that Viktor, with the little time he had, was able to modify the programs' original routines to tailored-fit choreography made to bring our their respective strengths as figure skaters.

Eros had captivating step sequences and sensual transitions, ambitiously placed one after another, efficiently utilizing Yuuri Katsuki's pristine control over his bodily movements. The big scorers were also in the second half, exploiting the Japanese skater's nearly superhuman stamina.

Agape, on the other hand, allowed for more quick and flexible movements which could be executed perfectly with Yuri's pre-pubescent and lithe body. The routine's jumps had majority of them placed in the first half. As angry as it made him, Yuri had to accept that his stamina had a long way to go before he could push in more quads by the end.

"Both of you need to be more conscious of _any_ part of you that is not touching anything." Viktor told them during one of their off-ice coaching. "Yurio, (Yuri growled at the sound of the nickname forced upon him) your free leg always looks sloppy! It's like you simply leave it there, dangling, until you have use for it again. It's as unsightly as a hopping flamingo."

The boy fumed, but bit his tongue. He'd just have to watch his free leg from then on.

"And Yuuri, your arms tend to flail unattractively just before the Spread Eagle and after the Sit Spin; you've been skating for years, you shouldn't be worrying about losing balance on something that is not a quad."

Yuri noted that Yuuri froze, red painting his face with shame and indignation, but the man said nothing as well.

Viktor grinned at them with that heart-shaped mouth of his, a condescending glint in his eyes. "You both may be world-class athletes, but nothing really special, no? I'm surprised neither Celestino nor Yakov had noticed your shortcomings."

A figurative arrow of judgment pierced through the two skaters. As they listened more to Viktor's litany, more figurative arrows peppered them, until the two competitors felt as if their own coach had murdered them with critique. "Don't get me wrong though! I'm sure you both will be able to surpass me someday." Viktor paused with a wink. "Perhaps."

The two skaters groaned as their coach pushed them back to the ice, with a promise to follow them in a moment after he's gone out for some sort of business. Yuri shivered, a resigned pout decorating his face. "Damn him," he whispered to Yuuri as they skated to the middle of the rink. Yuuri rubbed his neck with that shy smile of his, an attempt to calm the teenager down.

"He can be a bit tactless, he's always been that way."

Yuri glared at the Japanese man. "Don't talk about him as if you've known him all your life." He spat, skating away, accelerating enough to pull off another Quad Salchow. "I'll win, and I'm taking the idiot back to Russia with me."

The elder simply frowned, eyes pleading to stop the teenager's tirade. "I want him to stay here too." The Japanese skater whispered, loud enough for Yuri to hear. Yuuri looked up, uncertain but determined eyes glistening despite the shade provided by his glasses. "So I'll do my best, Yurio! I-I won't lose to you."

"Dream all you want."

The younger skater proceeded to practice in silence, ignoring the presence of the other person on the ice. 'You never had to try.' Yuri thought bitterly as he continuously skated his program from memory, with none of the love he was supposed to manifest. The boy spotted an empty space on the rink, sped up and performed a Flying Sit Spin.

 _'Viktor lied; you_ have _already won this contest.'_

A Triple Axel.

_'I'll perform my best skate, only to lose to a third-rate skater like you.'_

A Biellmann Spin.

_'I'll lose this stupid contest, and the world will lose that stupid legend.'_

**Clap! Clap!**

"All right, change of plans," Viktor called out to them from the side, carrying all their sports bags. Yuuko Nishigori, one of the rink staff, stood behind him, an apologetic expression on her face. The Russian smiled at them as they approached, his heart-shaped mouth betraying a screw-up he was bound to admit to. "I sorta forgot that I allowed the sponsors to come in later today with their banner advertisements, and it left my mind that the decor team was coming in today as well!" Viktor laughed, unfazed by the glare Yuri was directing to him. "They're actually outside now, just waiting for us to go. I'll give you two ten minutes in the lockers!"

With that, Viktor disappeared through the doors again, probably to talk with the sponsors and staff. Yuuko approached the two skaters, smiling guiltily. "Sorry guys." She said, looking down on her hands. "It's not his fault; he'd already given me the schedule for the preparations. I just forgot to remind him."

"Eh, Viktor's got a face of steel, taking the blame doesn't faze him at all." Yuri responded, moving to the bench to remove his skates. Looking up, the boy locked eyes with Yuuri, who was also on a bench. "You. Take me out to eat."

"Oh, sure, let's just wait for Viktor."

"No. Just you and me, Pork Cutlet Bowl."

***

 "Yurio, I feel  _really_ bad for ditching Viktor; we should have at least helped him with handling the surprise press." Yuuri whined through his face mask. He had led the Russian to the shopping strip near the station in search for lunch, but the boy was extremely picky, or was simply just passing time. The blonde eyed each food stall they passed critically, and sometimes he'd stop to try and make out the menu before moving on.

"So, are you lovers?" He asked, without missing a beat. Yuuri's eyes widened, face flushing a dangerous red, mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say. Yuri simply scoffed, glaring at his companion. "Or maybe you're fuck buddies."

"No, we are most definitely not!" The Japanese skater denied vehemently, offended that Yuuri thought that he and Viktor simply kept each other's beds warm. "He came here to coach me, and I'm his student; nothing more, nothing less."

 "Bullshit, I see how Viktor looks at you." Yuri growled, facing the man. "And I see how you look at him." The blonde spoke no more, heading to one of the stands. Yuuri followed, watching the vendor flip  _takoyaki_ on the plate. "Hey, Pork Cutlet Bowl, what's this crap?"

"Oh, it's fried octopus balls, we call it  _takoyaki."_

"What the hell?" Yuri growled, more out of curiosity than spite. "That sounds gross. I want six."

The elder of the two tried to stifle his laughter as he ordered two sets of  _takoyaki_ , silently enjoying the peace Yuri's genuine interest in the dish brought him. Green eyes followed the cook's hand religiously, blinking with every sprinkle of the ingredients onto the raw batter, eyebrows scrunching at the sight of pinkish-purple pieces of octopus being thrown into the mix. "That is disgusting." Yuri commented, crinkling his nose, but continued watching nonetheless.

 _'He really is just a kid, behind all that bite.'_ Yuuri mused as he observed Yuri's undivided interest on the octopus balls.

"Do you want any sauce or bonito flakes with yours? We usually have them the way they are around here, but octopus balls are more popularly eaten with toppings mostly everywhere else." Yuuri asked as their orders were being placed in boxes. The Russian looked over the fried goods, shifting between the sauces and the flakes.

"Looks dry, put everything you can on it." He said with finality, moving to sit on one of the benches near the stalls. Yuuri followed shortly, carrying a box of  _takoyaki_ and another box carrying _something_  that resembled goop. Yuri's eyebrow twitched at the unappetizing sight, tongue-tied since he'd asked for it, after all. "Oh! Don't worry, it actually tastes much, much better than it looks!"

"I swear, Pig, if this is a ploy to make sure I'm not at peak condition-"

"I would never!"

Yuuri's face lit up with indignation, staring at him with inflamed eyes. Yuri almost took back everything he said, too shocked to even churn out a smart-ass response. "Viktor's worked so hard on our programs and on this contest." The Japanese man's hands shook, Yuri fearing that the octopus balls may just topple over. His eyes were downcast, eyebrows meeting angrily at the middle, lip twitching into a frown. "Why would I debase all his efforts with such a contemptible act?!"

They were silent after that, opting to eat a bench apart. Yuri's guilt had begun to eat him from the inside, especially since the questionable white and brown excuse for a meal he had was actually delicious. Soon, all six balls were gone, and the teenager had nothing left to do but tackle the situation at hand. He had an apology on the tip of his tongue and his conscience nagged him like a mother, but Yuri was as stubborn as a mule and refused to back down. He stole a glance at his Japanese companion however, which was not such a good idea as it only increased his guilt tenfold. Yuuri's eyes were downcast as he slouched, box of plain  _takoyaki_ forgotten on the bench, eyebrows meeting in the middle with transparent frustration. Yuri groaned internally, begrudgingly accepting that not even he was that heartless.

"Hey, Pork Cutlet Bowl," He began, equally shocked when Yuuri visibly jumped at his voice. The man, despite his age, had large eyes containing more purity that Yuri's, and it was definitely no easy feat to continuously deride him. Fortunately, the blonde had become somewhat of a virtuoso in the art of asshollery. "What  _did_ you do to get Viktor to fly all the way here?"

Yuuri looked down once more, picking up his  _takoyaki_ , and moving to Yuri's bench. The younger didn't protest, waiting with resigned curiosity. "He said he saw the video of me skating his Free Program. I'm really not sure how, but Viktor told me that he'd been inspired by what he saw and had no doubt wanted to coach me." The man told him. "I've speculated that he'd gotten bored and just wanted to try something- _anything-_  new."

"That sounds just like him," Yuri commented, scrunching his own eyebrows. Yuuri offered an empty laugh, taking an octopus ball in one bite.

"I've decided that I'll take his kindness as it is." Yuuri continued, a fond smile on his face. "I'm not sure how long he'd stay with me, or if he's actually serious in doing this." THe man finished off his snack and turned to the teenager beside him. "But while he's still here, I want to be someone who'd be worth it. I want him to look back and remember that one moment he'd impulsively ran off across the globe to coach a dime a dozen figure skater, and I want him to smile and know it wasn't a waste of time."

"You love him."

It came out so suddenly that Yuri had to clamp his hand over his mouth. 'Shit, shit, shit, I did  _not_ mean to say that, damn it!' The blonde screeched in his head, face gone beet red. Surprisingly, Yuuri seemed to have taken him seriously, face not even showing any form of embarrassment. He simply smiled at him morosely, something akin to heartbreak blooming in his chest.

"I can't say for certain, really, if this is love." The man responded, a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks. "I've admired him for years, I can't even remember a time I didn't know Viktor Nikiforov; now he's here, and I get to talk to him everyday, eat my meals with him and literally skate on the same ice as he does." Yuuri breathed heavily, the pink of his face turning redder and redder by the moment. "I'm... I'm really, really happy he's here. My feelings for him may fall short of or transcend the emotion, but if there's no other word for it, I'll shamelessly call it love."

Silence engulfed them both, but Yuri's mind filled with restless questions, questions he could not find the voice to ask.

_'Does he know?'_

_'Does he feel the same?'_

**_'Are you a match?'_ **

***

As forward as he was, Yuri chose to sate his curiosity the roundabout way. He knew it was not his place and he was in no way entitled to it (Yakov had made it  **very clear** ), but the blonde just had to make sure. 'If not for Viktor's sake, at least for mine.' He thought as he undressed, only stopping when he saw the small, glistening mark on his left, inner thigh. Yuri rummaged through his bag for a plaster, immediately placing the thick material over the image. "What a piece of crap." He muttered, wrapping a fresh towel around his hips.

If he were honest with himself, Yuri didn't care much for his soul mark, at least not while he was still a minor. However, after moving to Saint Petersburg and getting to know Viktor and the others, he realized how powerful a driving force receiving a mark was.

_"It means that there's someone for you out there. It means that your match is capable of love."_

He'd admit it to no one, but understanding his soul mark made him think about the person responsible for it. It was crazy, how a person can simply fall in love, then somewhere, another person would be permanently marked as a result. The blonde teenager sighed, guilty but not dissuaded, as he made his way to the empty indoor bath. He leaned against the sliding door leading outside, shivering slightly from the cold. "I've just got to see," he whispered, grasping the door handle.

_"I need to know if this is worth leaving me for, Viktor."_

Exiting to the outdoor bath, however, Yuri realized that his plan had majorly backfired.

"Ah, Yurio! You're finally here!" Viktor welcomed, the man immodestly stretching on the floor in the nude. The Japanese man was in another corner, looking as if he'd just finished rinsing himself. The boy didn't know what to do at that point, when he noted that both Yuuri and Viktor had each five plasters on their bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Thanks to Grace who's been pointing out the flaws in the story's skating technicalities >.< I have never set foot on the ice before, but I did try to research a bit. Unfortunately I usually get ahead of myself and I mess up the fine points of the sport. Sorry about that Q_Q


	9. In The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri start to meet on the same ground.

_"Have you shown him?"_

_"What? No! Why would I even think of doing that?"_

_"When will you show him?"_

_"...I don't know."_

 ***

The sheets were a mess, and the inn  _jinbei_ were scattered all over the room. Various hair care products, lotions and other similar things littered the floor, as if the owner had no time left to tidy up. Viktor sighed as he slid the door closed behind him, holding a trash bag to dispose of anything that needed throwing. Hiroko and Mari insisted that it was perfectly fine for them to clean up the mess Yuri left (he was a paying guest, after all), but the elder Russian waved them off. Yuri might have booked into the inn, and the Katsukis were technically accountable for him, but he'd flown all the way there for Viktor, to get him back, and the silver-haired skater would be damned if he wasn't held fully responsible for the boy. "Oh, Yura," Viktor whispered as he bagged the last of Yuri's haphazardly disposed trash. Tying the bag and laying it by the door, Viktor moved to remove the sheets on the bed.

He had not intended for it to have gone that way. Viktor ran himself ragged, expediting the two Short Programs so that both skaters had ample time to rehearse. He had wanted them to skate to the best of their abilities, to discover their untapped prowess and further fine-tune their craft. He had  _wanted_ to have a hard time deciding who'd win, going as far as wishing that their performances would be so magnificently neck-and-neck that he'd be pulling his hair out from indecision.

(No, that was a lie; Viktor  _loved_ his hair to death.)

"But you never planned on staying until the end after all." Viktor whispered, lifting Yuri's pillow, only to find screen shot printouts of Japanese flight booking websites, angry Cyrillic scribbled beside several Kanji. Viktor's spoken Japanese was fair at best, but his literacy was practically zero. He did, however, note that there were flight prices encircled, as if Yuri had been comparing them, as well as the booking date for the flight he'd actually chosen. Viktor narrowed his eyes, noting the date a few days before the Hot Springs on Ice, disappointed in both Yuri and himself.

 _'I hoped that he'd had more confidence in me after that talk,'_ Viktor thought, folding the pieces of paper and depositing them inside the trash bag. _'If you'd won...'_

The man dared not finish his thought, his heart clenching at the mere idea of him leaving Yuuri. Shamefully, Viktor began folding the bed covers and blankets, a small, blonde apparition haunting him from behind.

_'You'd find a reason to weasel out, anyway.'_

"That's not true." The silver-haired man whispered halfheartedly, fingers trembling with each fold.

_'Hah! I wasn't going to stick around and watch you turn the tables on me.'_

"Yuri, no, stop."

_'This wouldn't have ended this way if you only had the balls to tell me **why I would lose to Yuuri Katsuki**.'_

"It was a fair match!"

The Russian clamped his hand over his lips, surprised that he had cried out. He lowered it slowly, until he was feeling for his mark under the  _kizuna engo_. Viktor curled into himself, a lump in his throat but no tears in his eyes, as he simmered in the swirl of his regret. "I'm sorry, it really felt like it wasn't fair to you, didn't it?" Without anything else to do, Viktor pressed his head against the bare mattress, pushing back any bitter words that threatened to escape his lips.

Viktor just stayed there, trying to get a hold of his feelings. Farthest from his intentions was to hurt the young skater. He'd taken Yuri under his wing, truly wished he'd surpass him when the time came, only to drop the poor child when the fall was high and his wings were yet to be full grown. But his plans changed, and the person he thought would never come suddenly became within reach. Viktor smiled to himself wistfully; at least, he  _hoped_ he was. "You'll understand in time, Yura." The skater mused, not bothering to believe himself. "I pray that when you do, you'll understand more than I."

_"Viktor? Are you in there?"_

***

"He should have really just let Mom and I fix the room." Mari sighed, polishing the new trophy Yuuri had gotten from the Hot Springs on Ice. They'd all been surprised, back at the inn, when the blonde teenager stormed in and checked out abruptly. Toshiya was away watching Yuuri and Hiroko had graciously offered to man the reception, but it proved to be more of a hassle since her English wasn't the best, and Yuri knew not a lick of Japanese. From what she told her daughter, the boy refused to look her in the eye, handing her the payment for his extended stay and a note written in Japanese (which looked suspiciously like a certain ice rink staff's penmanship).

_Katsuki-san, thank you for always taking care of me. I need to go now._

She almost snorted at how kind the note sounded, as opposed to how crude Yuri was in real life. Still, her mother took it to heart and was visibly distressed to see the boy leave, mentioning something about missing having a child present at the inn.

Mari noticed her brother's silence, giving him a once over before sighing once more. Yuuri was not just an open book; he was the movie adaptation  _and_ the billboard advertisement. Mari supposed she should be thankful; it would have been much more trouble for all of them if the skater had been any good at hiding his emotions. "He's probably just shocked. Yurio did leave without saying goodbye." She said, putting a hand on Yuuri's shoulder. She took out her phone, flipped through the galleries until she reached the picture of Viktor and Yuuri on the podium, the Japanese skater confidently in mid-speech, and his new coach holding him as his rock. She smiled and handed the device to Yuuri. "He's proud of you. Not even the pixels of this phone could hide that."

The man gave her a shy smile in return, before gazing at the photo almost lovingly. "I still can't believe this is happening." He whispered, handing Mari her phone back. "Has it really been a few months already?"

The woman spied the calendar from afar, more to peeve her brother than to actually check the date. "I'll wring that tiny neck of yours if you're gonna go on and on about this being a dream again." She said with no malice, ruffling Yuuri's hair in the process. "You should go to him; Viktor's probably wondering where he should put the laundry."

Yuuri nodded, sparing one last look at his sister before moving in the direction of the inn rooms. When he was out of sight, Mari took out one cigarette and headed outside, surprised to see Makkachin sitting there, uncharacteristically quiet and subdued. "Huh. So even you need time alone." She told the dog, taking a seat beside him. The large poodle looked at her enthusiastically, his tail thumping excitedly, but nonetheless he stayed in one place. Mari smiled and took out her lighter, posing to start on her cigarette. However, she was taken aback when Makkachin started barking in her face. "Whoa there, boy; what's gotten into you?"

Mari almost slapped the dog's muzzle when Makkachin tried to nip at her fingers,but she noticed that it wasn't her that the dog was after. The woman let out an exasperated yet fond sigh, tucking in her lighter and pulling the cigarette out of her mouth. Unsurprisingly, Makkachin also stopped yipping. "Unbelievable." The woman mumbled, scratching her head as the poodle nuzzled her shoulder. "Mom, Dad and Yuuri have been opposed to the habit, but leave it to a dog to reprimand me." She ruffled the dog's fur once more, opting to just share the silence with him.

"Yuuri's been much happier with you two around." Mari told the poodle. "He smiles more, and they're not those stupid 'I'm sorry I'm in the way' kind of smiles either. He really likes Viktor, you know?"

Makkachin whined, setting his head on Mari's lap. "Don't worry, he likes you too." She deadpanned, continuously patting the dog.

"Ah! You and Makkachin are becoming such good friends, Marichan!"

Viktor suddenly took his place on Makkachin's other side, Yuuri following to sit beside him. Mari couldn't help but admire the man's radiance, wondering how such an alluring man could be capable of such an innocent smile. He certainly looked much younger than he was when he was wearing one of his silly, heart-shaped grins, much more real than when he was being viewed through a television screen, seducing men and women left and right. Honestly, Mari never really expected Viktor to be quite a dork in real life, awing and ogling everything that he's never seen before, eating pork cutlet bowls with no regards to his diet, and most of all,  _not_ a prima donna. It felt as if the god of ice had descended from his wintry kingdom and with no qualms allowed himself to be grounded into becoming a mere mortal.

Suddenly, Yuuri's dreams came true, and Viktor had barged his way into their lives as an offering. Secretly, Mari swiped a look at Viktor's chest, the  _jinbei_ loose enough for a view of his naked, alabaster skin. There, just under his chest, was a  _kizuna engo_ ; she'd seen three on his torso the last time Viktor had gotten around topless, but for some reason, Mari felt that the one on the right, under his chest, covered his mark. Shaking off the thought, Mari kept her peace and watched as the two men and the dog kept their comfortable silence.

"Ah! Viktor! Don't do that!"

Mari sighed; they couldn't keep quiet for long, after all.

"But Yuuri! It's a fun game! Why, Georgi and I used to do it a lot when we were in Juniors!" Viktor mewed, tapping his fingers down Yuuri's spine, as if they were tiny legs walking down to his tailbone. The Japanese man had gotten red again, furiously trying to slap away his coach's invasive digits. "Wow, are you ticklish, Yuuri?"

"Try the neck." Mari commented, surprised at her own participation. The Russian's smile widened cheekily, his eyes two brilliant pools of unadulterated mischief, and her brother's face spelled betrayal in capital letters. Soon, Makkachin was joining Yuuri's howls of laughter, and she knew it was worth the glares she'd get over dinner.

***

"Seriously, Viktor," Yuuri groaned as he pulled his intoxicated coach into his room. Minako had come to pay them a visit that day and they've more or less discussed the Regionals with everyone. The Japanese skater did feel quite embarrassed that he had to start from scratch, but Viktor was nothing but supportive.

And drunk.

"Is this how Russians drink? God I hope Yurio doesn't pick up the habit." Yuuri complained, gently laying Viktor down on the bed. The man had passed out after a few bottles of  _sake_ , narrowly beating Minako, who'd passed out only a few minutes before. The man had boasted about his so-called Russian liver, snapping a few photos of himself beside an unconscious Minako before falling over, out like a light. "You're a crazy drunk, Viktor."

The silver-haired man stirred.

"Mm... you too, Yuuri!" Viktor slurred, laughing softly as he pulled the Japanese skater to lean in from the side of his bed. "We... we match! Drunk match!"

Viktor kept on laughing as Yuuri froze, blood running cold. _'We... match?'_ He thought carefully, letting the Russian climb up his back in his usual attempt at invading personal space. "H-how do you know that?" He asked slowly, wondering if it's a good idea to interrogate a drunk. Viktor simply grinned toothily, nuzzling Yuuri's cheek.

"You drink, I drink, I'm crazy, you're crazy!" He exclaimed happily, snaking his around around the dark-haired man's waist. Yuuri almost forgot to breathe when Viktor's clumsy fingers ended up squeezing his right hip. The man was definitely shitfaced, rubbing his reddened face against Yuuri's shoulder blades, but the man couldn't be bothered by anything but the pressure on his hip, on his mark. Viktor's thumb was directly on it, soothingly circling the colored skin through the fabric of his pants.

 _'Does he know?! How did he know!?'_ Yuuri thought frantically, removing the Russian from his person in a frenzy. Viktor flopped down onto the bed with not so much as a thud, instantly knocked out once more. He tried to calm his heart down, watching the slow rise and fall of the Russian's bare chest. He had managed to shrug off the right side of his  _jinbei_ while he was roughhousing with Yuuri, exposing pristine skin littered with three, haphazardly placed  _kizuna engo_. He'd seen Viktor wear those three plasters on his chest, while having two more on his right thigh and and on his tailbone.  _'I know where it is though,'_ Yuuri thought regretfully, recalling the day Viktor appeared, naked as the day he was born, save for a single plaster under his chest. He figured that Viktor didn't know about how well-kept a secret should soul marks be at that time, but that only solidified Yuuri's hypothesis that the man was already marked. He gingerly palmed his hip, feeling his mark through the fabric. "I wish it was you." Yuuri whispered, in Japanese, just in case Viktor would wake.

Yuuri left and returned to Viktor's room with a glass of water and some medicine, wondering to himself if a strong tolerance equated to immunity from hangovers. Yuuri was surprised that Makkachin had found his way in the man's room while he was gone, and had managed to flop onto Viktor's legs and stomach without waking the skater.  _'This is so cute!!!'_ Yuuri gushed to himself, admiring the sleeping pair. Secretly, he took out his phone to immortalize the moment. It was just in time too, since Viktor suddenly turned, grabbing Makkachin by his fur, and rolling onto the side. The Japanese man smiled to himself, pocketing his phone. "You'd catch a cold like this," He told the sleeping figure as he moved to cover him and his dog. Yuuri winced as he noticed the slight wetness on Viktor's shoulder and clavicle, most probably trailing down until his torso. "Ew, Makkachin," He giggled, wondering if Viktor would appreciate waking up to the crusty aftermath of slobbery dog kisses. Yuuri patted the poodle good night, before moving to leave the room. "Good night, you two."

**Squish.**

"Ew," Yuuri groaned, feeling small pieces of soft, slightly damp material under his foot. He loved Viktor's pet to the ends of the earth, but it was already way past midnight and he wasn't keen on cleaning up the poodle's 'little surprises'. Resigned, Yuuri decided that he'd rather fix it up that night than let a possibly hungover Viktor find the mess, or worse, _clean it himself_. "This better be slobber, I swear to God, Makkachin."

On the floor were a few haphazardly ripped, most probably chewed up, pieces of flesh toned material, littered just beside the bed.

All the color left Yuuri's face when he realized what they were. Instantly, he pulling out his phone to check on the picture he'd taken, only to drop the device on the floor.

***

"Yuuri! Let's go out to eat together!" Viktor invited enthusiastically, visibly contented with how the practice went. True, Yuuri had still flopped most of his attempts at a Quad Salchow, but he was getting better, and it was all the Russian could ask for at that time. Yuuri had been training so hard, the focus he'd put on the ice much, much different, performing his step sequences and jumps with such intense emotions that Viktor couldn't help but be reminded of the seductress on the pole.

It was like Eros himself had awoken in the form of Katsuki Yuuri, no longer a delicious pork cutlet bowl to enthrall all men, but a beguiling sex god, ready to captivate and consume his next mate. His gaze ensnared Viktor, removing him from the ice rink and tossing him into world built on pleasure layered upon pleasure. The Russian's jaw slackened, tongue dry and throat tight, white-as-a-sheet knuckles turning almost translucent from the pressure of being balled into fists. Viktor heard his veins throb to the beat of Yuuri's music, louder and louder with every sway of his amorous hips and every wave of his beckoning hands. It had gotten too hard for him to breathe, to think, _to_   _feel_ , and Viktor figured that he was dying. Everything was spinning, hot and cold at the same time, and Viktor  _had_ to be dying because suddenly it was too painful to live without Yuuri being his.

 _'Calm down, you'll scare him off,'_ Viktor berated himself, stilling the violent shivering of his heart and hopefully the convulsion his body was experiencing. At the very least, the man was able to calm himself down just before his protege had finished his routine. In an instant, the sex god had left his possession, leaving reserved, self-conscious Yuuri to skate shyly towards him.  _'What do you think about when you skate, Yuuri? I don't believe that it's simply just a pork cutlet bowl.'_ Viktor thought, meeting the man by the edge of the rink. "That was splendid, Yuuri!" He commended, silently cheering when he caught a small blush on the Japanese skater's face. "Why don't we go out to eat today?"

"Oh, I'm kinda busy." Yuuri responded, eyes still averted. He'd put on his blade guards and headed to the locker areas, paying his coach no mind. Viktor could only watch as his student disappeared, frozen in place after getting rejected for the first time.

***

"Yuuri! Let's go to the hot spring together!"

"You can go ahead, I don't feel up to it."

***

"Let's sleep together Yuuri!"

Yuuri all but slammed the door in his face.

***

Viktor was absolutely floored.

Yuuri had not only effectively turned him down every time he'd try to spend time with him, but the Japanese man had also made their coaching sessions seem cold, unfeeling and detached. When he practiced his Short Program, the skater transformed into his temptress persona, pulling the poor Russian deeper and deeper into his obsession, speaking no words, his come-hither body language more than enough to be the end of Viktor. Once the spell broke, however, Yuuri cloaked himself against his teacher, open only just enough to be receptive of coaching  _and nothing else_. The silver-haired man let it be for a few days, because  _'How hard could it be to ignore someone living in your own house?'_ Apparently, Yuuri was not only a master seductress; he was also an elusive ninja.

So when Yuuri finally failed to come to the ice rink for practice, Viktor decided it was enough.  _'We've danced around this far too long, and it's only wasting time.'_ He thought crossly, pedaling back to the inn. He greeted Hiroko with his regular smile, stopping only to practice his Japanese with her (she'd been kind enough to help him during their practice down times), before making a beeline to Yuuri's room. He was just about to knock when a thought came to him.

 _'I've never been in here, before.'_ Viktor mused, suddenly a bit nervous. Yuuri had been adamantly refusing him entry, even way before his cold shoulder act. During one of their drinking fests, Minako had spilled that Yuuri had tons of Viktor's posters- almost two of each, even- as well as magazine cutouts that had his face stuck onto his walls. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to ask the ballerina when she's sober, admittedly afraid that she might blow up at him for knowing. He couldn't ask Mari and the others either, as it might rub them the wrong way and think he's after Yuuri for a more impure reason. Viktor gulped, guilt barely tickling his abdomen.  _'They're not wrong...'_ He laughed to himself. After all, who could resist such a delectable pork cutlet bowl?

"It's now or never," Viktor breathed, bracing himself to knock, when a shriek resembling a dying animal permeated the area.

_"I can't take the guilt anymore!"_

Viktor took that as his cue. He slammed the door open, almost losing his cool when the first thing he saw was Yuuri's plump backside. ' _Focus, Nikiforov!'_ He thought, watching Yuuri as the man slowly turned to him, fear in his brown eyes.  _'Finally! You looked at me!'_ Viktor crooned, a charming smile plastering itself on his features.

"Good morning Yuuri! We're going to the sea today."

***

Try as he might, Yuuri was still not in a talking mood. Viktor had tried to strike a conversation, but quickly gave up after receiving nothing but monosyllabic answers.

 _'I guess I'll just have to watch over him for now,'_ Viktor mused to himself, shamelessly gazing at his student. Yuuri's eyes didn't settle on anything for too long, gaze shifting left and right, eyelids fluttering with indecision.  _'What can I do to make him trust me? What does Yuuri want me to do?'_ The Russian wondered, eyes downcast and brows narrowed in deep thought.

Makkachin ran ahead, twirling and rolling over on the sand, getting his fur fluffed and dusty, as the two men took their place just near the concrete of the pavement by the beach. Viktor had gotten comfortable, feeling a slight sting when Yuuri sat a bit too far from him. Sighing, he silently wondered if he'd overstayed his welcome, and if Yuuri really wanted to return to competitive skating. His thoughts were disrupted by the cawing of some birds overhead, immediately putting a smile on his face. "Look, Yuuri! Seagulls!" 

The Japanese skater muttered something under his breath, but Viktor decided to ignore him for the mean time. "This takes me back, when I'm walking on the bridge in St. Petersburg. Seagulls would always caw at us, and the gutsier ones would even steal your food and glasses!" The Russian let out a hearty laugh. "Those birds sure knew what they wanted from me, back then."

The silver-haired skater gazed fondly at Yuuri, a welcoming smile on his lips. Yuuri finally met his gaze, auburn uncertainty meeting sure blues. "How about you, Yuuri? Do you know what you want from me?"

No answer. Viktor waited patiently, until he'd realized that Makkachin had returned from his stroll. The dog had intrusively planted himself in between the two skaters, destroying the mood entirely. "Makkachin, really?" Viktor laughed, putting an arm around the poodle. He turned to Yuuri once more, noting the slight hint of a smile on the man's face. "Do you want me to be a father figure?"

"No."

"An older brother? A friend?"

"Mm..."

It was presumptuous of him, but Viktor couldn't help but press on. "How about a lover?"

Yuuri visibly jumped. Viktor smirked. _'Bingo.'_ "I'll do my best."

"No!" Yuuri shouted, face beet-red with an embarrassed expression. "I just want you to be you. The Viktor off the ice, the Viktor away from the limelight."

"I see." Viktor responded, standing up and offering his hand (and his heart, too). "Take me as I am then, Yuuri. I won't be letting you go that easy."

_'Or at all.'_

Yuuri's hand was warm in his, and the silver-haired man sighed contentedly.  _'For now, I'll take this.'_  Viktor promised to himself. _'For now, this is enough.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry that I had to remove the part with Yuuri's friend in Detroit, I didn't think it fit
> 
> EDIT: realized I didn't put in a title, ack. Will reread for revisions >.>


	10. A Day in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's ready, and Viktor's search is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG OMG OMG!!!
> 
> IS THAT HIT COUNT REAL???? *A*
> 
> You guys are the best! Thank you for continuously reading this story!!!

"They're getting along quite well, aren't they?" Minako commented, her usual bottle in hand as Mari joined her on the  _chabudai_. They eyed Viktor and Yuuri across the room, the two discussing their game plan for the Cup of China.

Yuuri had done magnificently during the Regionals, taking back his spot from the previous year's winner, Minami Kenjirou. He'd also done wonderfully during the press conference, despite adamantly demanding that Viktor stay behind in Hasetsu. The interview, surprisingly, turned into a low-key nationwide confession and somewhat an outing of himself, but Minako was proud that her ex-student was able to go through with it all the way.

She'd always known that Yuuri had eyes for Viktor Nikiforov. He'd been enamored even before he'd fully understood love, before he even knew that there was a chance. It was a pure kind of affection, without any of the fantasies that came with celebrity crushes. Yuuri never wanted the limelight, the money nor the power that came with being a star; he had just one goal, and it was to meet his idol on the same ice.

How lucky must he be to get more than a small wish come true?

"Viktor's clingy as hell," Mari responded, taking a bottle for herself. "He tries to hoard Yuuri's attention as much as he can, and Yuuri, the smitten bloke, could only say yes."

"Who'd say no to a hottie like that, I wonder?" The ballerina thought out loud, shooting them another look, only to admire Viktor in casual. She'd always thought the silver-haired skater had the most beautiful build among all the current batch, though Christophe Giacometti definitely had the sexier programs. Given a chance, Minako supposed she'd let herself fall for the Russian legend too. Sneaking another look at the two, she immediately nipped any plans for falling for Viktor in the bud.

 _'No one can deny it, Yuuri-kun. You've really got it bad.'_ Minako thought, sighing and capping her bottle. Mari let out a low whistle.

"Throwing in the towel this early? My, my, Minako- _sensei_." The blonde-black haired lady teased, earning a roll of eyes from Minako.

"I'm saving it for later," The ballerina responded offhandedly, covertly pointing to the two skaters once more. "Look, I know it's not my business to pry, but I still care for Yuuri." She said, voice low. "Is there anything more than professional going on with those two?"

Mari simply shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing you're not already seeing." The woman said blandly, not even turning Yuuri and Viktor's way. Minako sighed, continuing her espionage. The two skaters were in their own world, totally oblivious of the stares they were getting from her.

"How long have they been there again?"

"Hmm. Two to four hours, give or take."

Minako sighed, standing up. Mari's hand immediately shot up, pulling the older woman back down. Minako glared at her confusedly. "What?"

Mari narrowed her eyes. "Let them be." She whispered.

"I just want to know what's up!" Minako protested, also in a whisper. Instead of answering her, Mari pulled Minako out of the dining area and into the kitchen. The ballerina was ready to mouth off at Mari when Hiroko smiled at the from the stove.

"Ah! Minako- _senpai_ , Marichan! Do Vicchan and Yuurichan want more dried squid? Guchi- _san_ called to reserve the dining area for another drinking session and he'd just sent in a bucket of freshly-caught squid for stuffing and grilling." The plump woman greeted. "Maybe those two boys would like stuffed squid instead?"

"Ah, we left them alone for the mean time, for reasons Mari _chan_ won't tell me." Minako answered, jabbing Mari's ribs with her elbow. "They're pretty touchy, Viktor and Yuuri?"

Hiroko simply laughed, and as confused as it made Minako, Mari simply sent a smirk her way. "Is there something I missed?" She asked, completely lost. The Katsuki women kept their peace, offering apologetic smiles.

"We apologize, Minako _-senpai_ , but we have to wait on it too!" Hiroko said, and that was the end of it. Mari yawned and started moving tot he dining area again.

"I'm going to ask those two to move up to the private dining hall upstairs, and if they want some grilled squid." She said, leaving the two older women in the kitchen. Minako, as shocked as she was, let Mari go, instead opting to pester answers out of Hiroko.

"No really, Hiroko; is there something going on with Viktor and Yuuri?" She asked once more, arms akimbo and mouth downturned. The smaller woman simply smiled.

"I'm afraid we'd all have to wait for Yuurichan to tell us if there is something between him and Vicchan."

Minako found herself with no words once more.

***

"I highly suggest you wear contact lenses, Yuuri," Viktor advised, mouth in a patient smile. "Someday, I might not be lucky and I'll come out of it with a ruined suit!" Yuuri pouted, a weak comeback on his lips.

"Funny, Viktor. I can see just fine-"

_"-fuzakenna."_

The two men turned to Mari, who'd interrupted their banter. She eyed Yuuri crossly, but the upturn of the corners of her mouth gave her lack of bite away. Viktor simply watched, ears perked up at the familiar, albeit profane Japanese. " _Usotsuki. Yuurichan wa mienai_." Mari said, receiving a childish glare in response.

" _Mirareru_."

" _Ee? Hontou? Omotekanban no sono kanji ga yomemasu ka?_ "

"... _chikusho._ "

"Hey!" Viktor interjected, lost in between the rapid fire of Japanese. The siblings broke their death glares to look at him, the Russian's phone out, appearing to be recording their banter. "Slowly! My phone can't keep up!"

Yuuri blushed, then scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, Viktor. Mari- _neechan_ was just saying hi."

"Mom was actually asking if you wanted more dried squid, or if you'd be willing to wait for the squid Guchi _-san_  brought for  _ikameshi_." Mari said. "Also, that means you two need to get your butts off the dining hall and scamper off to the private dining room upstairs."

"Oh. What's  _ikameshi_?" Viktor asked, already standing up and dusting his backside, followed by Yuuri.

"It's just a large, grilled whole squid with rice and other things stuffed inside." Yuuri supplied, and Viktor beamed.

"Like a  _piroz_ _hki_ made out of squid instead of bread?"

"Uh?"

"Sure, Marichan!"

"Gotcha." Mari confirmed, ignoring Yuuri's confused sputtering. "Now go up; can't have Dad's friends practice their English with Viktor again. I swear  _that_ made my ears bleed."

 " _Hai, hai_ ," Viktor drawled in his noticeably less-accented Japanese before making his way up the stairs. Yuuri lingered behind a bit, looking Mari in the eye shyly. The woman sighed, planting her fists on her waist.

"Have you shown him?" His sister asked, her tone serious and her face carefully guarded of any detrimental reaction that may rear its ugly head. Yuuri, on the other hand, turned white as a sheet, fingers trembling.

"What?" He managed to squeak out. "No! Why would I even think of doing that?"

Mari tapped her thigh patiently, eyes trailed on her brother's hip.  _'You know perfectly why.'_ She thought, returning her gaze to Yuuri's face. "When will you show him?"

There was a pause between them, the banquet hall so quiet that Hiroko's grilling and Minako's light chatter could be heard across the room. Yuuri balled his fists, eyes planted on the floor and face turning purple from thinking too hard.

 _"Yuuri!!! Quick! We still have more to discuss!"_ Viktor called from the room upstairs, shocking Yuuri out of his stupor.

"Hold on! I'll be right there!" The Japanese skater shouted back, closing his eyes, he leaned onto his sister's shoulder and said. "...I don't know."

With that, Yuuri trudged on, a painfully fake smile on his face.  Mari bit her lower lip. "You're not fooling anyone, little brother." Mari muttered as she moved back to the kitchen. Unknown to her, Yuuri was still there, just behind the divider, listening. His smile dropped, his lips pouting with a nervous quiver.

"Just a little while longer." He said, moving up the stairs. However, instead of heading to the private dining area, Yuuri locked himself in his room.

***

Viktor stretched his arms and back as he finished confirming their plane and hotel bookings for the Cup of China as he sneaked a peak at Yuuri, who was dozing off slumped on one of the  _chabudai. 'Unfair, Yuuri; you just got here!'_ Viktor thought. Makkachin had managed to squeeze himself between the Japanese man's chest and thigh, softly wagging his tail at Viktor, as if to say 'Good job, Vitya!' The Russian reached for the poodle's fluffy head, lightly ruffling it, doing his best not to wake Yuuri up. Enticed by the promise of a nap but not yet too sleepy, Viktor sat beside the sleeping man and leaned his head on the table's surface, so that he could directly face Yuuri. Soon, the living legend found himself admiring his protege.

It takes a second look for someone to find Katsuki Yuuri special, and even after that, he's not  _that_ special. He had thick, bushy hair that needed constant trimming and an ungodly amount of gel to just get the mop to stay down. His nose was small and not that sharp, eyebrows full but not that thick; his eyelashes were thick but short, lips thin, but peachy. All in all, Yuuri had a face that could blend in perfectly with any Japanese crowd.

Viktor inched closer, admiring the slight blush on the other man's cheeks. Anyone could say that Yuuri looked ordinary, but living with him had allowed Viktor to see him in all his forms. Viktor was an eloquent person, but he could only muster one word to describe Katsuki Yuuri:  **beautiful**.

There was elegance in the man's movement, despite how subtle it was, regardless of how mundane the action he did. The twist of the wrist he made when reaching for something, the slow bend he did when removing his shoes by the door, the languid grace he exuded by simply walking from corridor to corridor: there were so many beautiful, little things about Katsuki Yuuri that Viktor couldn't help but admire.  _'I kept each little memory we made in a place close to my heart, you know?'_ Viktor thought warmly as he recalled each and every one.  _'I should have expected it; it was only a matter of time until I was engulfed by your presence.'_

It had been a slow dance, a telling of useless secrets every now and then, a puzzle of innocuous promises that formed a much, much deeper pledge over time. Viktor thought he was slowly pulling Yuuri to him; he was already neck-deep when he realized he'd been the one falling deeper all along.

He didn't mind.

"I pray it's you." Viktor whispered, in Russian, just in case Yuuri woke up. He didn't, though, and Viktor wondered if he was relieved or disappointed. It had been months and they've gotten to be much closer friends. Not like the thousands upon thousands that Viktor had on his SNS and his social circle, those who tag the skater on their filtered selfies and post pompous invitations to hang out (that he'd never attend) on his timelines and pages. Friends, like Georgi, Mila and Yuri, whom he horsed around with on and off the rink, regardless of Yakov's presence. Friends, like Christophe Giacometti, who'd invited him to tour France during off-season, wearing blonde wigs and adhesive facial hair so that they could go shopping and barhopping without a million tweets on their location, posting pictures a week too late, intentionally dismaying their fans. Friends, like Makkachin, who loved him, even when he wasn't wearing a heart-shaped smile or making smoldering gazes enough for panties (and briefs) to drop. Friends, like Yuuri, who'd worshiped him like a god, seen and experienced that he was far from it, and _still_ stood by him.

However, to Viktor's chagrin, the closer he and Yuuri got, the less physical their friendship became. After they'd spoken on the beach that day, Yuuri had been more open with his thoughts and feelings, but withdrew from anything more than an arm around his shoulder. He still bathed in the hot springs with his coach, but Yuuri had been far more reserved, staying in one corner, and only soaking for half the time that Viktor needed to enjoy. Of course, Yuuri had also become stringent with barring the man from his bedroom, even going as far as adding another lock to the door, just in case Viktor was strong enough to bust it open again. The Russian skater was being driven mad; there were moments when he had the urge to crush Yuuri against his chest and brush his lips against the man's hair, but the thought perished the moment the object of his affection flinched away.

"Why do you keep on running away?" Came Viktor's soft whisper, this time in his improving Japanese, shamelessly hopeful that the low rumble of his voice would rouse his sleeping beauty. Yuuri still slept like a log. Viktor sighed, nudging just a wee bit closer, feeling all the warmth but none of the skin it emanated from. Makkachin raised his head, awoken by the sudden closeness of his master. Viktor smiled at him and ruffled his fur, causing the animal to nuzzle back, removing himself from beneath Yuuri, as if beckoning Viktor to come closer. The poodle gave one more playful lick on his master's hand before moving to curl up on one of the corners. "Thank you, Makkachin," Viktor told the dog, who silently yipped in response before hiding his head.

With his pet out of the way, Viktor was able to move closer, allowing their knees and arms to share warmth. Boldly, the Russian allowed himself to thumb Yuuri's chin, the man's eyelids crinkling from the sudden cold of Viktor's fingertips. The silver-haired skater indulged himself with one more fond smile. "You feel the same way, right?"

"...yes."

Viktor nearly leaped out of his skin, the sound of Yuuri's sleep-addled voice electrocuting him out of the comfortable, dream-like state he was in. He didn't notice Yuuri's half-lidded, yet unfocused gaze right away, the man's eyes trained on the polished surface of the  _chabudai_ , as if scrutinizing it for any imperfection. "I've felt this way for a long time," Yuuri murmured, slowly facing his coach. Viktor's voice hitched, surprised at the tears forming in the corners of his student's eyes, at the reddened face he had on despite the cool temperature,  _and he was so weak_. Yuuri looked  _so vulnerable_.

One push and Yuuri would be on the floor.

One shove, and Yuuri would be beneath him.

One thrust, and Yuuri's taste would be on his mouth.

Viktor's mouth went drier as Yuuri's face grew wetter, and it took all his willpower not to take him, devour him,  _own him._  The Russian knew in himself that he was not a strong man, and with the unexpected turn their situation took, he was sure that he would only become weaker and weaker still. Yuuri rose from his position, eyes pleading and body language still unhindered, and the silver-haired man stilled himself, body stiff and muscles rigid; if he so much as moved a finger, Viktor knew he'd spiral out of control.  _'Keep it together, Nikiforov,'_ Viktor growled internally, especially since Yuuri had begun to gather his bearings, embarrassment clear as day on his face.

"I-I'm sorry, this is embarrassing and stupid," He muttered, wringing the hem of his shirt, fingers trembling like leaves on a windy day. Whatever fire Viktor felt light up inside him was doused with concern, put out almost immediately at the prospect of Yuuri's discomfort. The Russian reached out his hand, but was unsure where to put it (his hand? shoulder? face?), and he ended up looking at his palm dumbly. In the end, the two shared a moment of silence, punctuated by sobbing and the occasional sniffle. "Y-you knew, didn't you?" Yuuri continued suddenly, holding all of Viktor's attention. "You know how I feel about you. I'm no good at hiding my emotions, everybody knows that, and I've only ever looked at you."

"Oh, Yuuri," The older man whispered, his voice giving him the strength to push further and place his hand on top of Yuuri's clenched fists. Thankfully, he was not swatted away. Instead, the Japanese man grabbed his hand gingerly, pressing his smooth knuckles against his tear-stained face. Viktor frowned when he noticed that the shaking never stopped. A low howl broke between them, Makkachin immediately making his way to Viktor's side, looking cautiously at Yuuri. The glare his dog was giving his student was different, a bit more intense than usual, and Viktor had to fight off a chuckle after noting the protective air surrounding his pet. "Oh Makkachin, it's all right. Yuuri isn't going to hurt me. Come on, Yuuri and I need to talk for a bit. You go hang out with Marichan and Minako, okay?"

The dog was surprisingly compliant, probably bribed by the smell of food that entered the room when Viktor opened the door, and soon, it was just him and Yuuri in the private banquet area. Smiling at the Japanese man despite him not looking, Viktor sat back down beside him, pressing his body against Yuuri's. He'd accepted that their talk had already ended and resigned himself to waiting for the next time Yuuri was willing to continue. However, the younger of the two wanted to press on started to speak once more.

"I've admired you for almost all my life!" Yuuri confessed, voice cracking slightly at the end. "You inspired me to skate, to aim higher! I've always been always running after you, I believed that if I didn't stop chasing you, I'll someday catch up."

At that moment, Yuuri had already begun bawling, his face a crumpled, wet mess, and Viktor was at a total loss on what he should do. The back of his hand felt too warm and too soggy, but he didn't dare pull it away when the man in front of him held onto it like a lifeline. "But I didn't. I fell short and I thought that was that." The dark-haired man sniffled, "Then you suddenly appear out of nowhere, _seeking_   _me_ out, and all I can think of is  _ **why**_? I've wondered for  _months_ but I couldn't find an answer; I thought you were bored, wanted a change of scenery, even felt bad for me a little, but you've been here for so long already. You keep on asking me to hang out with you, bathe with you, hell, even _sleep with you_! You grab onto me like an octopus, undress like it's no one's business... and yet..." He paused, red-rimmed eyes boring into widened blues. "It's not my place, and it might be too bold of me, but  _how_ can I not assume that you like me, even just a little?!"

The silence was deafening, and Viktor almost felt himself being swallowed by the uncomfortable ringing in his ears. Yuuri just confessed to him, and he didn't know what to do. With how bold he was with his fantasies, Viktor caught even himself off-guard when he realized he'd never thought of their current situation before. He'd been confessed to countless of times, and he'd mastered the art of near-painless rejection (because  _how_ can rejection be anything but, really?). but never had he really confessed back.  _'Ah, screw it.'_ Viktor thought, moving to lessen the gap between them.

"But I do like you, Yuuri," Viktor hushed, voice gentle as he pulled the other man into a loose embrace. "More than just a little, I'm afraid."

Yuuri didn't respond, but kept on sobbing onto Viktor's chest. Viktor pulled the man closer, comfortably setting Yuuri between his legs, resting one hand on the younger's head, and snaking the other protectively around his torso. The Russian sighed, nuzzling the fluffy hair, before he began to speak. "You know, when I was a kid, my  _Babushka_ went with me to the skating rink all the time." Yuuri looked up to him, clearly confused at the random story. Viktor laughed, poking the other on the forehead. "Don't worry, this will be worth your time, I promise."

"I-it's not that..."

The Russian laughed, pulling Yuuri back to the embrace. "Anyway,  _Babushka_ was very old. She had lost the ability to walk by the time I gained the ability to skate, so I had to push her on a wheelchair and made sure she had a good view of me, her position had to be just right." Viktor motioned Yuuri to look at his outstretched hand, folding it into a fist, as if holding something, before making a dragging motion with it. "My first rink in St. Petersburg had uneven flooring, so I never forgot to lock the wheels. When I moved to Yakov's rink, though, the place was much better! I stopped locking the wheels because the flooring was even and  _Babushka_ could wheel herself around when she got bored of watching."

Yuuri's sobs lessened, the pace of a story he still did not understand surprisingly calming him down. Seeing its effects, Viktor pressed on. "But a week passed by and she didn't budge, not an inch, from where I left her. I panicked and thought that by force of habit, I've kept locking her wheels despite telling her I didn't!" The Russian paused to laugh at the fond memory, secretly cheering for the small chuckle Yuuri shared with him. "Turns out, the wheelchair  _was_ unlocked, and  _Babushka_ simply stayed put because she loved watching me skate!"

"She sounds like she loves you a lot." Yuuri said, shyly looking Viktor in the eye. The older man nodded enthusiastically, a heart-shaped smile on his face.

"That she did! There is not one person in the world who loves me more than  _Babushka_."

He felt Yuuri's hand fist the material of his  _jinbei_. "Well, that's what I thought back then." Viktor continued. Happy memories he'd had with his grandmother resurfaced, and the man felt like he was ten again, walking into Yakov's high-class rink, pushing an old lady in a wheelchair more than half his size. "You see,  _Bab'ka_ was practically blind. I didn't know it at first, I really thought she could see with how trained her eyes were on me. Apparently, she could only see blurs of colors. I cried in the bathroom stall when Yakov told me that she memorized the colors of my clothes every day and did her best to follow the familiar combination all throughout practice! Imagine that: she managed to pick me out from a sea of blacks and blues by the color of my hair! When I found that out, I started wearing bright pinks, greens, oranges, strong colors that would help  _Babushka_ see me easier. Georgi made fun of me, even thought I was a girl, but I didn't really mind. Everyday, she worked her way around her disability just to catch even just the blur of my body, and I thought,  _no one could love me more than_ Bab'ka _, and I'd love no one more than her._ "

"What a wonderful lady," Yuuri whispered, letting himself enjoy the warmth of Viktor's body just a bit more. "You must love her very much."

"Oh, I do. To the moon and back, over the sun and stars!" Viktor exclaimed happily. "I loved her more than life itself. But, she said something to me that made me think."

Yuuri sat up, still in between Viktor's legs, allowing himself to look into his coach's blue eyes. "What's that?"

"She told me that there will be someone who'd love me even more than she did." The silver-haired man whispered, bringing a hand to cup Yuuri's cheek. Thankfully, the younger man didn't flinch away, too absorbed in Viktor's tale. "She said,  _'Vitenka, your match will love you even more than I. So when you think you found your match, remember my love for you, and then you will know.'_ "

Viktor removed Yuuri's glasses, gently placing them on the _chabudai_ and pressed his forehead against Yuuri's, his eyes closed and lips upturned with a serene smile. Oddly enough, the younger one stilled, but the stiffness of his posture immediately dissipated as he leaned into him. "You never say it, but I've felt it." The older man whispered, his hands gently but firmly taking Yuuri's in his. "You've had feelings for me all this time; I've seen the way you look at me, and I wonder if you've noticed that it's the same way I look at you."

Yuuri didn't speak, but allowed himself to look up, directly into Viktor, as if he sought out the silver-haired man's soul. His eyes were wide and dark, and the Russian found himself leaning closer and closer, mesmerized by how perfectly the reflection of his light irises fit into those black pools. Finally, the younger man opened his mouth. "I've loved you ever since I was twelve." He blurted out like a schoolboy confession, a blush running through his cheeks. Viktor's eyes widened, instantly moving away, as if Yuuri's confession had burned him. The Japanese skater almost broke down into ugly tears once more when Viktor beat him to the punch. His eyes turned glassy and a wide, open-mouthed grin formed on his lips, the man trying to cover his apparent joy with his hand. All the weight in his stomach disappeared, instantly replace with pleasant fluttering that spread warmth all over his body. Viktor keeled over and started laughing, and Yuuri wondered if it was the purest sound he's ever heard.

"Don't be mad, I'm so sorry," He managed to choke out as he wiped a stray tear from his eye.  _"Mne tak povezlo._ I'm just so happy. You mean it? Since you were twelve?"

"Y-you don't have to look so overjoyed about it!" Yuuri stuttered, embarrassed at the sudden mirth Viktor displayed. "It's embarrassing; I thought it was just a childhood crush."

Viktor threw his head back with a silent laugh, running his hand through his fringe and supporting himself with a hand planted firmly behind him. "This is wonderful, wonderful news! Why have you never told me?"

"That I had a baby crush on you that grew up with me? Hell no."

Yuuri's words only fueled Viktor's laughter even more, and it took all of the Japanese man's control to not laugh along with him. Truly, the Russian had such a melodious and infectious laugh; Yuuri decided that he wouldn't mind hearing it everyday, even if it were at his expense.

"You don't have to tell me about yours, but," Viktor spoke once more, the smile still on his face, but hesitance in his tone. "I want you to know about mine."

"W-what?"

Before he could react, Viktor grabbed Yuuri's hand and pressed it to his right ribs, the  _kizuna engo_ warm under the Japanese man's palm. "V-Viktor?!" Yuuri stammered, noting the man's unnervingly calm demeanor. "T-this is personal! Y-you don't have to..."

"Even if I want to?"

Yuuri shut himself up after that. Viktor smiled at his silence, spreading his companion's palm until his fingers were splayed against the ivory skin until the entire plaster was under Yuuri's palm. " _Babushka_ told me that when my match falls in love, it will manifest as a mark on my skin." The Russian said, voice low and quiet. "You said you fell in love with me when you were twelve, right?"

Yuuri could barely breathe. "Y-yeah. It was your final year in Juniors, and you won gold."

Viktor nodded. "Well, I got marked around that time too, noticed it the moment I changed out of my costume."

Yuuri's breath hitched, thumb unconsciously rubbing itself against the smooth material of the plaster on Viktor's ribs. "Do... do you want to see my mark?" Viktor asked. The Japanese man winced, but did not remove his hand from the  _kizuna engo_.

"I-I'm not sure... are you sure?"

Viktor gingerly held Yuuri's free hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "You told me you've been chasing after me; I've only ever pushed myself this far because I've been searching for my match." Pause. Kiss. "I'm here, you don't have to run after me anymore."

The press of Viktor's lips to his fingers lingered, and he spoke through the kiss. "Will my search end here as well?"

Yuuri couldn't say no. Without thinking, he started peeling the plaster off, watching intently as the skin stretched, the weakened adhesive yielding to shaking fingers. With each millimeter uncovered revealed marked skin, and the skater's breath hitched with every stroke and shape that adorned Viktor's ribs.

The plaster fell to the  _tatami_ , and Viktor's eyes trailed after Yuuri's hand. The man had removed it from Viktor's body and retreated it onto his own, resting it tensely on his hip. The Russian placed his hand over Yuuri's, feeling the odd coldness of his skin. "You don't have to." He whispered, a genuine smile on his lips as he pressed his forehead against the younger man's. He felt Yuuri shake his head, shifting his position to meet Viktor's gaze.

Wordlessly, the Japanese skater stood up, face turned away, hand still firmly placed on his hip. "Yuuri..." Viktor pleaded halfheartedly, suddenly nervous due to his companion's hesitance and unreadable expression. "It's okay, if you're not ready."

As if he didn't trust himself to speak, Yuuri let out a whimper, shut his eyes and pulled his pants down, enough to reveal his patched hips. Viktor froze, eyeing the two plasters he'd been so used to seeing; he held his breath when Yuuri grabbed the one on the right, then let out a gasp when the plaster was torn right off.

Viktor was on him in a heartbeat, an impassioned kiss, their first, shared between them as they cradled each other on the floor. In between kisses, Viktor gasped overjoyed words.

"I knew it was you! It just had to be!"

Viktor peppered his student's face with loud smacks, and no one could blame the silver-haired man if he didn't notice that Yuuri's smile was a little bit more broken, slightly more pained. No, the Russian was too happy, too busy admiring Yuuri's mark.

On Viktor's rib and on Yuuri's hip, after all, was the same golden Polaris embraced by a black laurel crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've never defined it before, but chabudai is the low table XD
> 
> Fuzakenna - don't mess with me  
> Usotsuki. Yuurichan wa mienai - Liar. Yuurichan can't see  
> Mirareru - I can see (or 'can to' for the more accurate sibling banter)  
> Ee? Hontou? Omotekanban no sono kanji ga yomemasu ka? - Eh? Really? Can you read the kanji on that signboard over there?  
> Mne tak povezlo - I'm so lucky (Yahoo! Answers)
> 
> UPDATE:  
> Hi! Made a correction regarding the Nationals vs Regionals mistake I made >.<
> 
> Also, just to clarify, there was no continuity error made. :) The plot thickens!!!! /(OoO)/
> 
> Note: I'm currently learning Nihongo but nowhere good at it, but I do practice with my Japanese work mates. :D


	11. Lost Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri had a momentary lapse of judgment.
> 
> Phichit is unable to do anything.
> 
> Viktor is none the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so surprised by all the comments and theories from the last chapter! It really warms my heart to see so many people still reading this story.
> 
> Thank you! <3

_"Everyone works so hard."_

_"Oh, Yuurichan, of course we work hard! We want the inn to be successful!" Katsuki Toshiya boomed, voice full of life and optimism. The five-year-old boy raised his eyebrows, obviously unable to grasp his father's intentions._

_"Kokochan doesn't need to work hard, and she's rich."_

_"Who's Kokochan, Yuuri?"_

_The boy pointed to the television. "Kokochan, from the afternoon cartoons. Her dad owns a hotel and they're super rich." Yuuri said, to which his father laughed heartily. The boy simply pouted._

_"Well," Toshiya began, "How does Kokochan's father do it?"_

_Yuuri pressed his finger to his lips, recalling the previous episodes of the show. "Well, he's smart, but the people around him aren't so bright. Kokochan's dad just makes sure he's ahead of them all of the time." He said, quite proud of himself for recalling that much about a series he'd barely watched. "I don't watch it much, but this one time, Kokochan's dad beat the other guy in getting the promotion because he took the idea and reported it first! The other guy was too slow."_

_Toshiya was silent after that, and Yuuri wondered if he said anything wrong. "Dad?"_

_"Ah, sorry, Yuurichan! Daddy was only thinking of something." Toshiya laughed, his smile present on his face once more. "Say, Yuurichan, Kokochan's dad may not be so nice."_

_"Eh!? Why not? He gives Kokochan everything."_

_His father nodded. "But the idea was not his, right?"_

_"No."_

_"The guy Kokochan's father took the idea from must have worked on it so hard. He must have been sad."_

_Yuuri did not answer, stilled by the sudden realization. Toshiya pressed on, pride swelling up inside him at his young son's understanding. "Everyone has something they want to get, and it's not always easy." He said, Yuuri nodding in agreement. "But we should never step on others just to reach our dreams. Dreams are pure things; for them to come true at the expense of other people, they become nothing more that stolen goods."_

_"But stealing is bad!" Yuuri exclaimed, scandalized that he'd previously admired Kokochan's father's cleverness. His father ruffled his hair with a lilting laugh._

_"That's right. So no matter what happens, Yuurichan will always be kind and honest!"_

_The boy hopped off his father's lap in excitement, as if he were given an exciting new quest. "Yeah!"_

***

Don't bathe for too long.

Don't soak too much.

No scrubbing.

Absolutely _no oil_.

**Replace every four to six days.**

Yuuri spied the haphazardly written list of instructions from the corner of his room, where he sat motionless as a rag doll. His jeans were strewn across the floor, his bottom half sporting loose pajamas, a white bandage peaking out from the right side. His right hip was sore, any movement felt like it could rip his skin; despite the obvious discomfort, Yuuri's eyes were hollow, and his face, emotionless.

 _'So this is how it was supposed to feel like.'_ Yuuri thought, recalling the day he found his soul mark. He recalled his initial fear of being found out as the inn keeper's tattooed son, letting out a bitter laugh because  _it was just so ironic_. The wound on his right hip was warm, but the rest of the skater's skin was ice cold; when he raised his hand to his face, there was no denying the violent shiver it had.  _'Why did I...?'_

He'd been holed up in his room the entire day, leaving only for morning practice. Viktor had spontaneously ended their practice mid-day, baited by the locals who'd invited him to come fishing with them on their squid boats. Despite all the begging he did, Yuuri was able to brush him off and feign tiredness. "I'm sorry, Viktor; I need to go into town today." He told the man, and Yuuri tried not to feel guilty when his coach began failing at hiding the hurt he felt every time he was turned down.  _'I had to.'_ Yuuri thought. Absently, the Japanese skater palmed his smarting hip once more, eyes falling to the neat, sparkling sheets piled up onto his table. The glint of gold taunted him, a reminder of the biggest mistake he's ever made.

"Yuurichan is no longer kind and honest." Yuuri whispered, tears loosely streaming down his face. Agonizingly, the man stood up, careful not to aggravate his wound any more than he already had, and made his way out his room. The hallways were already dark, and Yuuri was compelled to check his phone clock, only to realize that it was already two in the morning. He sighed, making his way to the bathroom, but not without passing Viktor's room. Yuuri allowed himself a little peek, noting Makkachin on the floor and Viktor on the bed, before pressing on.

Only after the  _click_ of the bathroom door's lock did Yuuri allow himself to relax.

_Dampen the bandage with warm water; if you don't it would be hard to get it off without a hitch._

Yuuri dipped a hand towel in warm water, bringing it to the soiled gauze. He hissed at the slight discomfort it brought him, but kept the cloth on top until it was soggy enough. Slowly, he peeled off the bandages from his right hip, exposing violently red skin with some disgusting liquid build-up on top. If he squinted, Yuuri could make out a small symbol, an outlined Polaris embraced by a black laurel crown. Mindlessly, he began washing off the liquid gently, as instructed to him once by the tattoo artist's gruff and judging voice.

_"Six hours under the bandage, no more, no less."_

Yuuri made sure to come home late into the night, even dropping by the skating rink, just in case anyone became suspicious. He didn't skate, of course; with how bad the burning felt against his jeans, the skater might as well stabbed himself in the leg. The gauze could only do so much, after all, but since he'd already begun the whole charade, Yuuri had to see it through.

"Now or never." Yuuri hissed as he poured a handful of water on his reddened skin, wiping off any blood and ink that managed to seep out. The man had to bite his lip to stop himself from waking up the entire inn. "Fucking hurts," he whimpered as he dabbed the cleaned skin dry, turning to the mirror to observe it.

Yuuri almost wept because  _it was the perfect replica._

Slowly, he wrapped a towel around his waist and trudged out of the bathroom, pants slung over his shoulder.

_Air it out for an hour; that's right, you'll have your junk out so do us all a favor and do it somewhere private._

When he made it to his room, Yuuri removed his towel and lied down bottomless on his bed. He shot a look at the stack of gold sheets on the table, itching to run his fingers onto the gleaming surface. "Beautiful." Yuuri whispered, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, but drying out right away. He brought a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle an onslaught of sobs, failing miserably as his cracked voice rang against the walls of his room. "I l-love you... I-I'm so sorry."

Viktor had come to him, for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of, but the man had fully invested all his time and talent into making Yuuri a better skater. Despite his initial unapproachable celebrity status, Viktor had acted nothing short of a weird but kind friend, as if he'd known Yuuri all his life. He had no regard for personal space, ate all the food that fattened Yuuri without gaining any weight, and babbled Japanese with the locals no matter how bad his grammar or word usage was. It was as if he'd plopped onto the land and carved himself a place in the center of the city's heart.

(He'd also made his home in Yuuri's heart.)

Unable to sleep and all cried out, the Japanese man reached for his phone, only to be greeted by the blank screen. "Oh right, I turned it off."

He was immediately swamped with SNS posts the moment his phone started up, as if it were forcing him to update himself on his friends' whereabouts. Yuuri contemplated on turning his phone off again, until the device started lighting up and vibrating.

 **Phichit-kun**   _is calling._

The Japanese skater was so surprised, he had no choice but to answer it. The video loaded for a second, before he was greeted by a very messy-haired Thai. Despite it being well past midnight there, Yuuri couldn't help but note the sunshine still present on his friend's face.

 _"_ Konbanwa, _Yuuri!"_

" _Sa wat dee krap,_ Phichit. What are you still doing awake?"

Phichit pursed his lips, pretending to think, before offering Yuuri his signature selfie-ready smile. " _Why, I'm tending to my adorable followers on IG! After qualifying for the GPF, my activity has shot up tenfold and now I'm rendering overtime to make sure I can answer all the messages and follow back people I might like. Sometimes, it's such a chore!"_

Yuuri laughed at his friend's predicament. Only Phichit would be excited over SNS more than qualifying for the GPF. "Congratulations again, Phichit. You're doing so well." The Japanese man paused, composing his next sentences. "Thanks for finding her for me. I'm sure I would bomb my Free Program at Regionals if she didn't remake her composition. Now I'm much more confident I'd do well next month."

_"Hey, no worries! She was pretty happy when I told her that I'd be giving you her email address."_

"She's really too kind to me." Yuuri responded fondly, recalling how supportive his composer was towards his career from the very beginning. The woman had latched onto Phichit and him right away when she saw them, telling the two men that she was just very happy to have found familiar-looking faces among all the blondes and brunettes. Phichit, of course, became good friends with her right away, while Yuuri took some time trying to get used to having more than one friend at a time.

_"She liked you a bit, you know."_

Yuuri paused before offering his friend a sad smile. "I think I figured even that much." He responded, guilt pooling in his stomach. Apparently, one of the girl's friends tried to hook her up with him, trying to give them as much alone time as possible without incurring Phichit's wrath. Eventually, they've gotten much closer, forming a more genuine friendship, deep enough for Yuuri to share his own hopes and fears with her. He told her about his dreams of skating on the same ice as his idol, that even when he felt he wasn't good enough, he'd do his best to shove all the ugly naysayers to the back of his head just to be one step closer. He told her how much Viktor Nikiforov meant to him, and Yuuri still remembered how wide-eyed she was while he poured his heart out to her. She jokingly boasted that she could compose music that would reflect his life as a skater, of getting better but never good enough, of chasing Viktor, but not getting quite there yet. Yuuri had meant to answer her with a jest as well, but instead, he'd planted his hands onto his thighs, offered her a bow and a plea.

**_"Please, do it for me."_ **

Phichit hummed in agreement, before smiling at Yuuri again. _"She couldn't follow through with it though; I bet she dropped everything the moment you started going on and on about Viktor!"_ Yuuri had the decency to blush, becoming a sputtering mess without a strong comeback. Phichit noticed his discomfort, and swooped right in for the save. _"Don't worry. I bet she'll share my happiness once you and Viktor finally get together!"_

"P-Phichit! I-m not- He's not-"

_"Oh hush, Yuuri; everyone knows you're besotted with Viktor. And don't you dare deny that Viktor likes you too."_

Yuuri sighed, absently rubbing the skin nearest to his right hip. A sharp reprimand about not scratching the skin while it was healing ran through his head, and the man removed his hand right away. "I don't know, Phichit; he's clingy and offers to be my lover, but that could just be the European in him talking."

 _"Or, that could be_ the _Viktor Nikiforov talking, and you, my friend, have become your own cockblock."_

"Phichit!!!"

The Thai's laugh was energetic and a bit too loud for the hour, but Yuuri found himself smiling as well. Phichit's happiness was highly contagious, and Yuuri was all for being infected.  _"Seriously, though, Yuuri; I think you should take Viktor's actions as they are."_

"What do you mean?"

The Thai pressed his cheek onto his palm, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.  _"I mean, what kind of maniac does that? Based on what you told me and what I see on my SNS feeds so far, your Ice Daddy just brewed this coaching idea overnight, the moment he saw that video of yours."_ He paused, bringing out a cup of pudding from the side to snack on.  _"There must have been something bigger at work here, a magnetic pull that made Viktor lose the ability to think clearly! It's just like how he explained Eros, sexual love, to you!"_

"Phichit, you are being very lewd, and I have a feeling you're actually enjoying this." Yuuri deadpanned. His friend, however, was not dissuaded, as he continued to lecture Yuuri on the beauty and thrill of love. Strangely, his hip started to itch. He really wasn't listening to the Thai, but Yuuri still politely interrupted him. "Hey, I'm sorry to cut you off, but can I ask you something?"

Phichit's face shone with worry at Yuuri's tone, his demeanor immediately changing from cheeky to somber. _"What happened?"_ He asked, and Yuuri almost felt as if the younger man knew what he was going to say. Yuuri dragged himself up, noting the time, and then grabbed a pair of boxers and a tube of ointment by the foot of his bed.  Phichit's view had already been obscured by the dark ceiling of his friend's room, the shuffling of cloth and squishing sounds of lotion the only indication that the Japanese skater was still there. The Thai blushed as he tried to put two and two together.  _"Ahhh!!!! Yuuri! Are you undressing?! I hear squishies! Are you jacking off??? AHHH!!!! YUURI NOOOO!!! I love you, but not that way- EEP!"_

The small pillow stayed on top of the phone, where Yuuri tossed it to, face contorted into fond exasperation as he pulled up the boxers, until it was just under the  _kizuna engo_ on the left hip, and the reddened tattoo on the right. He almost backed out when Phichit's ungodly screeching forced him to placate the younger man. "Phichit, is there no one living with you? You're so loud." Yuuri whined as the Thai beamed at him, as if he were celebrating a secret victory. "And I was not jacking off, you ass; be serious for a bit, I really need your input on this."

The Thai had no words, nodding slowly to let Yuuri know he was ready. The Japanese man ducked into his bed once more, careful not to scrape his hip onto the bed. "You need to swear that you'd keep this between us."

_"I swear."_

Yuuri sighed.  _'No going back now,'_ He thought. "I saw Viktor's soul mark."

Silence.

 _"WHAT?!?!?!"_ Phichit screamed, immediately clamping his hands over his mouth, as if he didn't expect the loudness of his own voice. Yuuri had to muffle the phone with a pillow once more, only taking it out when the man on the other line stopped screaming. Phichit's eyes shifted from left to right, before focusing on Yuuri once more.  _"Did he show you?"_

"Uh, no; he was drunk and passed out-"

_"YUURI HOW COULD YOU-"_

"-and his dog slobbered the mark plasters off his chest."

_"BAD DOGGIE! Does he know that you know?!"_

Yuuri fidgeted slightly. "No," He told Phichit truthfully, recalling how he grabbed his fallen phone and rushed out of Viktor's room as if the devil was after him.

_"Well??"_

"Well what?"

Phichit frowned, his face an unreadable mess.  _"Don't 'well what?' me, Mister! You know exactly what I'm asking!"_

"No."

_"What do you mean no? Of course I could only be asking one thing, there's only one-"_

"I mean no, we have different marks."

Phichit shut up, finally noticing how soft and cracked Yuuri's voice had become. He didn't know how he failed to see it right away (and he would kick himself endless because of it), but his best friend was  _crying a river_ and he had no words of comfort that could protect Yuuri from the truth.

He wasn't Viktor's soulmate.

Someone out there had the same mark as the living legend, and it wasn't Yuuri; it would never be Yuuri.

 _"Oh, Yuuri..."_ The Thai whispered, knowing nothing else to say. His Japanese friend merely wept, not even trying to wipe away his tears, as if he'd grown tired of trying to hide his grief.

"I-It's not just this." The skater sobbed, guilt, shame and pure agony mapping his face. "I-I did something unforgivable."

_"...Yuuri...?"_

The Japanese man spoke no more, panning his phone camera to his table. Phichit's gasp sounded much more disappointed than Yuuri had anticipated.

Tattoo care instructions. Scentless anti-bacterial soap. Ointment. Gauze.  _Sheets upon sheets of pre-cut gold Polaris flash tattoos_.

After a few more moments of silence, Phichit spoke up.  _"Hey, let me look at you."_

Yuuri obliged, his downcast browns meeting Phichit's sadly confused grays. The look his best friend was enough to bring more tears to the Japanese man's eyes, and soon, he was bawling, phone shaking in his hands. "Oh God, I'm terrible. I feel like something is constantly strangling my throat and  _fuck_ it hurts to  **breathe**."

 _Why_ was on the tip of Phichit's tongue, but he dared not speak it; after all, why ask if he knew perfectly why Yuuri had gone such lengths?  _"You really love him."_ Phichit whispered, and it wasn't even a question. It was  _never_ a question.

Yuuri loved Viktor, and it was all right.

Then they found out that Yuuri wasn't Viktor's soulmate, and... it wasn't all right.

Phichit wanted to scold his friend, tell him how stupid and unfair he was, what he did, and what it could mean for him and the Russian skater. The Thai wanted to slap him silly, shout at him until Yuuri was sorrier than sorry, but he couldn't. One look at the Japanese skater and Phichit knew no one was suffering more than he.

"I hoped." Yuuri managed to say as he tried to calm himself down, and his Thai friend decided to stay silent until he was done. "It was like a fairy tale, you know, before I saw his mark. Viktor Nikiforov, my long-time crush and idol, rises from our hot spring, and offers to be my coach. He is so damn touchy and affectionate, and he goes out of his way to spend time with me. Hell, going here to Hasetsu  _is so out of way_. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it! I hoped, and hoped, and hoped, and all that hope amounted to nothing but deception solidified on my hip."

Yuuri lowered the camera, showing his friend the inked replica of Viktor's soul mark. Phichit covered his mouth with his hand, because despite the redness and the lack of the Polaris' gold, he could perfectly imagine how the mark would look on Viktor's alabaster skin. He knew it was wrong to think of it, considering the predicament they were in (and it is  _they_ , because Phichit refused to leave Yuuri alone with his screw up), but the Thai couldn't help but admire how fitting Viktor's mark was.

He was the North Star, the much sought-after gold, and he wore the laurel crown, the coveted prize of victors.

Victor. Oh, how fitting it was.

Phichit sighed, wondering if technology would be advanced enough in the next few years to remotely hug a person through the internet. "What do you plan to do now?" He asked gently, but decided to push Yuuri a bit more, play the devil's advocate just to make his friend tick. "Are you going to show Viktor?"

Phichit wondered if he'd regret trying to use reverse psychology on Yuuri, but he needed to know what Yuuri planned to do with the fake mark. "Are you going to hide it, after going through all this trouble?"

"I..." Yuuri trailed, preventing himself from touching the sensitive skin. The tattoo artist, despite his initial outrage at his immoral request, did a wonderful job at replicating Viktor's mark, copying it only from the chanced upon photo Yuuri had taken. He had seethed the entire process, and the Japanese skater was glad he'd worn a surgical mask and a bonnet; the last thing he needed was for someone to know that  _Katsuki Yuuri_ had gone low enough to cheat someone off their soulmate.

_"You will regret this." The old man said, thick glasses adorning his worn and wrinkled face. Yuuri bit his lip from under the mask._

_"I-I did my research." The younger man was able to say, to which the older scoffed._

_"Not enough, I would say." The old man spat, moving to inspect his sterile tools. Yuuri pressed on._

_"You're the best tattoo artist in Fukuoka, maybe even the entire Saga Prefecture." He continued, taking one brazen step after another towards the unfazed man. "And I know that you've replicated soul marks before."_

_The man looked him in the eye, contempt burning hotly in his fading irises. "Then you also know that all the clients I've had were never successful." He weakly grabbed Yuuri's collar, bringing the younger man's head down to eye level. "They all lived sad, miserable lives, most of them going as far as taking their own. You know why?" The man didn't even give the skater time to think. "Because death isn't enough retribution for even trying to steal someone away from their match."_

_"But you've done it," Yuuri said slowly, gently holding onto the man's hand. He noted the many ink stains it sported, and the skater almost couldn't tell the natural pigment of the artist's skin. "You've done it, so you must have believed that there was reason behind it!"_

_"I played God and was made a devil!" The man bellowed, voice surprisingly husky and filled with desperate melancholy. "I **cannot** change your match, nor can I make you the match of this poor soul you desire. The only thing I can do, the only thing I've ever done, is to immortalize our sins for such temporary joy." _ _The man paused, removing his hand from Yuuri's person, rolling up both sleeves to show two small marks, one much, much faded, the other, still vibrant as the sun. His old eyes met Yuuri's, not a stranger to the uncertainty brewing in the younger man's resolve. "I am alone, but I wasn't always. You see, stupid boy, they will find out; no matter how well you hide it, secrets can never remain secrets. When they see that you have not just one mark but two, they will leave you and resent you for the rest of your lives." The man paused, looking away. "This person is not yours."_

_Yuuri stewed in his thoughts, dangerous ideas mingling with self-preservation. He loved Viktor, but Viktor wasn't his, and he could never, ever have him... unless... Yuuri bit his lip. "He can be, for a little while."_

_It came out of his mouth so suddenly that even he was surprised. The old man gaped at him, and Yuuri wanted to take his audacious statement back, especially when the man's steely eyes melted into pools of liquid iron._

_Yuuri got onto the tattoo bed and the man began his work wordlessly. As time went by, the skater noticed how the old artist's eyes slowly lost its light; by the time they were done, the man spoke few, accepted Yuuri's payment without counting, and locked the younger man out of his shop as fast as he could._

_"Yuuri?"_ Phichit whispered, tiredness already evident in his eyes. The Japanese skater offered him a sad smile, clenching his free hand from where his friend couldn't see.

"Just for now," Yuuri said, voice barely audible. "When Viktor's soulmate comes, I'll let him go. But for now, until that person appears..."

 _"Yuuri..."_ Phichit whined.  _"Don't do this. You'll only hurt yourself, and you'll hurt Viktor as well."_

He was  _so wrong_. Yuuri knew the pit he was digging himself into was only getting deeper, and time will come that he would no longer be able to get out.  _'It's worth it,'_ Yuuri told himself, recalling all of Viktor's smiles, both gentle and teasing, his hugs and touches, their long talks that go beyond midnight, and the short conversations they have while passing each other around the ice rink. Viktor was  _there_ , and Yuuri did  _not_ want him to slip away. "J-just for now, Phichit; I'll tell him when the right one comes along."

Phichit was quiet, probably at a lost for words, surprised at his friend's misguided actions.  _"You know you're wrong, but you're still doing this!"_ The Thai cried quietly, feeling his own resolve wither. Yuuri looked as if he'd never wanted anything more, and Phichit knew that Yuuri  _never_ went after anything as hard as he did Viktor. Yuuri was the type of person to let things he wanted go if it would bother someone else. He wanted so much, but went after so little, and Phichit could name only three things Yuuri'd really fought tooth and nail for: adopting his pet, Vicchan, competitive skating, and  _Viktor_.

 _"Just for now."_ The Thai mirrored weakly, not believing his own words, but decided to stick with them when he saw the relief on Yuuri's face.

"Yeah." Yuuri said, his voice lighter and less strained. His friend looked so peaceful, so contented, and the Thai skater knew that he shouldn't because  _everything had gone terribly wrong_. Viktor would find out, and Yuuri will fall deeper into the abyss of his mind; Viktor would  _leave_ him, and Yuuri will never be the same. He shot his friend one more look before the Japanese man excused himself to sleep. How was it fair that Yuuri could still sport such a beautiful, thankful smile when his best friend had just helped him dig his own grave?

Phichit wanted to tear his hair off and scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Konbanwa and sa wat dee krap - good night
> 
> Note: I don't have a tattoo, but my sibling's friend does, my manager does, so I just asked them how the first ones felt.
> 
> I'm sorry if the chapters are getting a tad bit longer
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to add in the link to the Tumblr prompt! Here it is: http://mysteriousentityisheretoloveyou.tumblr.com/post/154934070229/prompt
> 
> Also, I've read the comments and I just wanted to assure those who would still follow this story that it will get better. I love Viktuuri and seeing them go canon on screen had been the best thing I've seen in a LONG WHILE.
> 
> There will be no death.


	12. Ghosts of Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov had been dying to hear those words for more ten years.
> 
> Yuri finally has the guts to ask.

Yakov swore in five languages when his phone blared the chorus of _Stammi Vicino_  at an ungodly hour. He'd specifically set a certain silver-haired skater's Free Program music as said skater's ring tone because Yakov needed a few seconds to compose himself. He had to take care of his blood pressure, after all, and screaming at his prodigal student had the same effect it would have to a log.  _'One, two three,'_ The coach counted, before answering Viktor. "I hope you are dying, because there would be no other reason why you're calling me this late at night, Vitya." Yakov hissed, feeling his blood running through his veins painfully.

_"Huh? Oh, right! Time zones, my bad! It's eight in the morning here in Japan."_

"What do you want, stupid boy?"

_"It's him."_

Yakov stilled for a moment, all grogginess and spite draining from his body. "Come again, Vitya?" He asked, just to make sure he heard correctly. He could almost feel the glee radiating from the human sun on the other end of the line.

_"Yuuri! He fell in love with me when he was twelve, after watching my final GPF as a Junior. Do you remember? That's when I got marked!"_

"Did he show you his mark?"

A pause.

_"Yes."_

Yakov sighed in relief, internally wondering when he'd begun to nurse the dread that came with letting Viktor go.  _'Thank goodness,'_ he thought, allowing himself to smile. Viktor wasn't in seeing range to tease him, so Yakov supposed it was all right. "Did you show him yours already?"

_"Yes! It was wonderful! Better than I could ever imagine! Yuuri's just so perfect."_

"Ah, that's good. To think I believed you were on a fool's errand." Yakov immediately bit his lip, unable to catch his unkind statement.  _'I didn't mean that,'_ He thought, wondering if he should apologize.

 _"Silly Yakov! You have so little faith in me!"_ Viktor sang, no hint of resentment in his voice. The elder man sighed, feeling as if he'd dodged a bullet.  _"You have to meet him. We're not announcing it anytime soon, -even I know that's a bad idea- but I'd like you to see my match. You'd love him, but not more than you love me, of course."_

"Please, with how quiet that boy is, I might find myself brought to happy tears."

Viktor's laugh filled his ears, and Yakov found himself smiling fondly on his end. "Your grandmother would be so happy." He found himself say. The laughing stopped, only the younger man's soft breathing left to indicate that he was still on the line.

 _"No one but Yuuri and I would be happier than she."_ Viktor said softly.  _"I'm sorry for calling so late; I_ did  _forget the time difference."_

"Eh, you forget many things," Yakov waved off, yawning. "I'm going to sleep now before Lilia catches me."

_"WOW! You and Lilia have gotten together?"_

"Not in this lifetime, she says," The old man growled with a hint of annoyance. "Yuri and I are currently living with her; I managed to get her to choreograph that stubborn boy's Free Program."

_"Be kind to Yura! I remember Lilia working me to the bone when I was still his age and body type."_

"And you two are both as stubborn as they come. I swear, we would have tossed you both to the whales if you didn't perform even half as good as you do."

_"Aww, I'm touched, Yakov!"_

Yakov let out another yawn. "I'm going to sleep; we are catching the earliest flight to Canada tomorrow," he looked at his side table clock. Past twelve midnight. "Later, and I don't want to shout at Yuri more than I need to. I'll see you in China in a few weeks."

_"Okay! We should get hot pot with Georgi!"_

"Right." Yakov groaned, ending the call and laying down to rest once more. As he turned to his side, he caught sight of Lilia's bedroom door(it was  _their_ bedroom, a decade ago), feeling oddly nostalgic. He let his gaze linger a bit more before turning to his shoulder. Shamefully, he began pulling off his sleeve until he had come face to face with his soul mark, as vibrant as the day Lilia fell in love with him. It took almost forty years(how young love made people do crazy things, Yakov could no longer recall), but they eventually went their own ways, keeping tabs on each other strictly for business.

And yet, she'd invited him back to her house, after ten years of separation. It gave him a strange feeling, a mix of longing and displacement, staying in a cold building he'd once called a home. Yakov always believed that he'd grow old in that house, and the door to Lilia's bedroom would be the last thing he saw.

_**SLAM.** _

When the door suddenly opened, at twelve-thirty midnight, it almost  _did_ become the last thing Yakov saw.

He didn't die though; instead, he faced Lilia, no tight bun nor makeup, who seemed to have been awake for as long as he had. She didn't speak, so Yakov kept his peace and idly noted the wrinkles that had rooted themselves on his ex-wife's face, unconsciously memorizing her uncovered features. Her lime green eyes glistened in the darkness, almost cat-like, and her peach lips were pursed into an unreadable expression. His stomach dropped when he realized that it was the first time in ten years he'd seen her without the thick, stern mask of makeup, and he had almost forgotten that Lilia the Wife ( _ex-wife_ , his mind bitterly supplied) was much softer and much kinder than Lilia the Prima Ballerina.

"That was Vitya, wasn't it?" She asked, voice low, as if to make sure Yuri wouldn't wake. Yakov knew better, though; Yuri Plisetsky slept like the dead, and only Jean-Jaques Leroy's voice would rouse him. And send him on a murderous rampage, probably.

"Yes, that daft boy forgot the time zones." Yakov responded, sitting up to face Lilia. "Did we wake you?"

The woman took a seat by the empty fireplace they didn't bother to light (it was the modern age and heaters were a thing), checked her nails, before relaxing against the chair. "I'm a very light sleeper," Lilia said. Yakov begged to differ, recalling how hard it was to wake her up when he'd frantically burned their anniversary breakfast, but he supposed it wasn't the time nor place to be reminiscing. Instead, he kept quiet and waited for her to finish. "How is he? Is he still coaching that Japanese boy?"

"Apparently so, and it seems he's doing much less horribly than I expected. I'll be seeing that boy of his at the Cup of China, against Georgi."

"Ah," Lilia mused, pressing her finger to her lips, a ghost of a fond smile on her mouth. "It seems like the universe is willing to bend itself backwards to make  _anything_ work out for that boy. It's a shame he never took interest in becoming a danseur; the Bolshoi Ballet would have welcomed him with open arms and legs. Career lifespans are far longer too."

Yakov laughed a bit, but it came out like a cough. In an instant, Lilia was on her feet and out the other door. The man, too shocked to speak, held his breath and wondered what he'd done wrong that time. Yakov felt his heart beat a little too loudly, and  _when did he start caring about how Lilia felt again_? His hand unconsciously rubbed his left shoulder, as if to feel his mark for comfort. His old ears perked up when he'd heard the clinking of distinctively crystal wine glasses, and Lilia was back in the room. She held in one hand two very familiar crystal wine glasses, and a bottle of an unmistakably _ancient_ bottle of wine. Yakov threw his head back in almost tearful laughter.

"Isn't that the vintage Port your grandfather gave us as a first wedding anniversary present?" He guffawed. "That fossil of a beverage is old enough to be Yuri's grandmother!"

Lilia didn't join in the laughter, God knows how long she hasn't been laughing out loud, but the mischievous upturn of her lips indicated that she might as well had. "You wouldn't let us drink it back then."  _You wanted to drink it on our fiftieth wedding anniversary instead._

Yakov snorted. "It's supposed to be aged. Foolish young adults have no business trying out a newly bottled vintage."  _We didn't have time to sit down and savor it anyway._

"Well, it's as ancient as we are, so there's no reason why we can't have it now. Besides, our flight is in a few hours and neither you nor I can sleep." Lilia responded, placing the two glasses on the table, offering the bottle to her companion. "Care to do the honors?"  _I still can't open a wine bottle by myself._

Yakov took it, ripping off the shiny paper wrap and twisting the bottle cap off with ease. "You still let others open your wine."  _I know you can; you've been doing it just fine for the past fifteen years._

The woman's smile widened as the aroma of raspberries and wood-aged wine filled the room, watching as her ex-husband poured them both a glass, hers first and his, last. There was no toast, no clinking of glasses, just two old people sipping wine at the wee hours of the night. Lilia swirled the liquid in her glass, enjoying the scent more than the taste, before turning to Yakov, who had begun to pour himself another glass. "Do you remember the time we took Vitya and Gosha out for their first drink?" She asked, recalling the beautiful young Viktor Nikiforov and his long silver hair, and the enigmatic Georgi Popovich and his expressive sapphire eyes. Yakov, on the other hand, simply remembered two brats eager to taste alcohol.

"Yes, how can I forget? Georgi turned out to be a lightweight and a depressing drunk, while Vitya, whose unbelievable tolerance  _came out of nowhere_ , downed his own weight in beer and vodka!"

Lilia allowed herself a giggle, the wine most probably loosening her up a bit. "I think Vitya was drunk earlier into the session; it's just very hard to spot the change in personality because he's such a happy person  _and_ a happy drunk." She reminisced. "Those two boys kept on rambling about soulmates and love though; do you remember?"

Yakov sighed softly, savoring his second glass. "They were marked very early on, and those two have presented to be such hopeless romantics." He said, recalling the time Viktor shared his mark with him. Georgi hadn't, but the man had moaned and groaned every waking moment about love found and love lost that Yakov had to be both blind _and_ deaf to have missed all the bomb-like hints. "In the end, Georgi had played the fool and revealed himself to an unmarked girl, who happened to be someone else's match."

"And Vitya?"

Despite his dark-haired student's misfortune, Yakov couldn't help but be happy for his silver-haired protege's luck. "That idiot took a far greater risk, going to Japan after some decent skater who placed sixth in Sochi." He growled, still a bit bitter but generally happy about the whole ordeal. As he finished his glass, Yakov felt too light and bubbly to mask himself. She was with his soulmate, after all, regardless of their civil status. "You were right; it seems the universe  _does_ bend itself over backwards just to give that brat what he wants."

Lilia's eyes widened, a more genuine smile on her lips. "It's Katsuki Yuuri then?" She asked, to which Yakov wordlessly nodded, mirroring her smile. Immediately, Lilia poured herself another glass and held it up to Yakov, as if asking for a toast. When the man failed to respond right away, her stern expression returned, sharp as ever. "Well? This calls for a toast, doesn't it?"

Yakov could only clink his glass against hers in response.  _'Yes, yes it does.'_ He thought.

***

Yuri had been a  _terrible_  passenger. If it wasn't for his general fear for Lilia, Yakov would have sworn the boy would have gotten thrown out the plane. He didn't make too much noise, just asking for a bag of peanuts every hour or so, but Yakov had to end his nonsense when he realized that the boy was planning on pelting Jean-Jaques Leroy with all the nuts he'd hoarded. After that, Yuuri had grumbled and grumbled, getting chided by Lilia until she herself gave up, put on an eye mask and pretended to be asleep. It was a fifteen-hour flight with two stopovers, and she'd rather sleep it off than watch over Yuri. Eventually, the boy had stopped yapping and resolved to glaring at anybody who looked his way.

"Hey, Yakov," Yuri suddenly began, voice uncharacteristically soft. The old man momentarily wondered if it was a trap, but gave the boy the benefit of the doubt.

"What is it?"

"You and Lilia are soulmates, right?"

Yakov was taken aback, unsure on how to answer. There was really no point in hiding the fact, considering he and Lilia had known that they were soulmates for more than half a century, way before they had gotten popular enough to catch the attention of many. "Yes, what about it?"

Yuri looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. Yakov scrunched his eyebrows, unable to decipher the strange look his student had. "Why?"

"What do you mean ' _why'_?"

"Why did you and Lilia go your separate ways?" Yuri whispered, shooting glances at the woman who had been sleeping beside him. He leaned closer to Yakov in hopes of not rousing her and incurring her wrath. "Aren't soulmates supposed to be for eternity?"

He really didn't have an answer to that one. As shameful as it was, Yakov had gotten quite good at deflecting and rerouting conversations; he supposed doing it one more time wouldn't hurt. "Bah, Vitya has been gone and yet he  _still_ managed to infect you with such thoughts." He griped, pulling his hat off to rub his head. He took a mental note to take some medicine for a headache he'd been nursing the moment he sat beside Yuri. "What has gotten you so curious again all of a sudden? We have been over this for months."

Yuri looked down, biting his lip. "Yeah, whatever. What's so important about soulmates anyway?" He moped, sliding down a bit and pulling his legs to his chest. "It's not like it's  _that_ important. You wouldn't even know unless they tell you."

"Eh, you're too young to understand, but your way of thinking isn't wrong." Yakov mused, his own experiences haunting him. He took one look at Lilia, allowing himself to soften his gaze. He heard the boy snicker behind his back, and immediately shot him a venomous glare. Yuri was not fazed; instead, he widened that shit-eating grin of his to further annoy his coach.

"You've been divorced for as long as I've been alive, but you keep her close," The boy teased maliciously, to Yakov's ire. The headache worsened, but the coach felt that it was purely psychological; Yuri had not only lost his respect towards him the moment they moved in with Lilia; he'd also started teasing him endlessly about their relationship, unrelenting even at the most awkward of times. "You two kinda remind me of my parents."

Yakov prided himself in being able to keep his mouth shut just in time, as he was about to curse Yuri up and down for his insolence. The boy  _never_ talked about his parents; it was always his grandfather this, his grandfather that. "How so?"

Yuri scoffed. "They're soulmates and they're divorced." He said simply, no trace of bitterness in his voice.

Yakov left it at that.

***

"What  _the fuck_ is he doing here?!" Yuri hissed, hiding behind Yakov.

"Don't let Lilia hear you," The older man said through gritted teeth, watching as his ex-wife approached them from the conveyor. She turned her attention to what Yuri and Yakov were looking at, spotting a boisterous young man with an undercut doing poses with a group of women.

"Who is that hooligan?" Lilia asked, and Yuri gave a silent cheer at the insult. Yakov massaged the bridge of his nose; he'd downed so much medication that he wondered if he'd gone immune.

"That's Jean-Jaques Leroy, last year's GPF Bronze medalist." The coach supplied, earning a nod from the ballerina. "This is his second year in Seniors, but he's competed against Yuri while he was still a Junior."

"Is he any good?" Lilia voiced, unsure as to why Yuri was still ducking behind his coach. "Yuri Plisetsky seems to be intimidated by him."

"I AM NOT INTIMIDATED BY STUPID JJ!"

Yuri had not expected it to be too loud, immediately regretting all his actions when JJ turned to them at the sound of his name. The Canadian's face broke into his signature smile, excusing himself from the women around him to approach Yuri. "Goddamn it," The Russian boy swore under his breath, clenching his fists behind his back, as if preventing them from slinging into JJ's face 'by accident'.

"Yuri! You were sorted here too? What a coincidence!" JJ called, Yuri murdering him in his mind ten times over when the older skater had the audacity to wink at him. "Did you just arrive from Russia?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Yuuri seethed, earning a glare from Lilia, which he'd promptly ignored.

"I thought you'd never ask!" JJ boomed, shooting a smirk and a thumbs-up towards the women, which appeared to be his fans, in the background. "My wonderful girlfriend's coming home from Korea after her internship, so I'm picking her up."

Yuri decided to ignore him as well, wordlessly turning away and pulling his baggage towards the exit. Lilia shook her head, offered a short apology to JJ and walked after Yuri to chastise him, while Yakov stayed behind with JJ, left to finish whatever small talk they needed to have. "Excuse him, it was a rough flight." Yakov said blandly. JJ simply laughed.

"You don't have to cover up for him, Mr. Feltsman," JJ quipped. "I'm no stranger to little Yuri's barks."

 _'For better or for worse,'_ Yakov thought.

"You look well." JJ continued, offering his hand to shake, which the Russian promptly took. "Was that your wife? First time I've seen her around these parts."

"No, that's Yuri's choreographer." Came the old man's automatic reply. JJ shot his hands up in surrender.

"Whoops, sorry about that."

_"JJ!!!"_

Yakov followed the young man's gaze, noting the immediate change in his smug expression. JJ's face lit up in genuine happiness, running up to an Asian woman and twirling her before pressing a kiss to her mouth. The woman giggled as she was let down, JJ pulling up her arm, revealing a pink sweatband near her elbow. She, in turn, pushed up his t-shirt sleeve, revealing an indigo sweatband around JJ's arm, near his shoulder. The Canadian skater then pressed another kiss to the pink material, and the Asian mirrored his affection onto the indigo band. Yakov almost choked, surprised at the display of affection, recovering only to feel warm fluttering in his chest.

JJ and his lover looked as if they were locked in a waltz.

Yakov silently took the hint to leave the two alone, wordlessly making his way to Lilia and Yuri, who were already in their rented car. "Hurry up, Yakov!" The young Russian growled, irritation marking his features. The coach simply sighed, taking his place behind the wheel. "Seriously, what was so interesting about that scum?"

"Well, you've never won against him before, I think that's enough reason for me to take interest in him." The old man spat, effectively silencing Yuri, wounding his pride in the process. Yakov sighed, wondering if the boy would sulk the rest of the time, but he couldn't get his mind off JJ and the woman, and how perfectly in love they looked. Slowly, he stole a glance at Lilia, who was massaging her hand and arm; Yakov didn't fail to notice the gold and black compression sleeve she wore. He smiled to himself.

***

"Choose a damn channel, boy."

The blonde teenager huffed, opting to stop at some station with a far-fetched alien documentary. He'd been surfing the channels available on their hotel television for ten minutes, not really able to find a show that interested him. He'd been able to find some English dubbed anime reruns, but he didn't want to appear  _too_ childish in front of Yakov and Lilia, so he opted to view them when the old people were out.

Yakov, lulled by the voices of the outrageous alien theorists, leaned back into his armchair, a cup of steaming coffee on the table beside him. Lilia had insisted that she meet up with her previous students and co-performers who were in the city, stating that she'd been able to sleep on the plane and that jet lag was no issue. He'd thought of reconnecting with old friends as well, but Yuri was still considered a minor, and the last thing he needed was a complaint towards him, considering he was the boy's accountable adult.

Yuri, despite the television he refused to turn off, was on his phone again, browsing through IG posts. Yakov had begrudgingly made an account, if only to monitor the activities of his less than sane students. Mila had badgered him into posting a profile picture (which looked like an ID picture, to be honest) and to verify his identity on the site, just in case he was thought to be a poser account. Viktor had immediately followed him, tagging him in numerous photos, including those from a secret France getaway his student had with his Swiss friend and long-time rival. When Yakov did take the time to look through his student's accounts, he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry from all the weirdly-angled selfies coupled with gaudy captions or overused quotes. Speaking of which, Yakov suddenly found one of said photos pushed to his face.

"Is Viktor even  _serious_ about training this pig?" Yuri growled. The boy was on the bed, lying on his stomach and propped on his arm, while straining to bring his phone to Yakov's breathing space. The old man would have laughed at how stoic the boy's face was, despite the obviously awkward and uncomfortable position he was trying to maintain. Pushing the phone away enough to actually see the picture, Yakov noted that it was of his silver-haired student and  _his_ student on some beach, wearing nothing but swimming trunks. There were around five patches each on their bodies, and Yakov's eyes training towards the one hiding Viktor's mark right away. He then looked at Yuuri's own set of plasters, wondering which one hid Viktor's same symbol.

"How he trains that boy isn't our business," Yakov waved off. "If he's masquerading as a coach to be a tourist, then by all means,  _let him_." He paused, looking straight into Yuri's eyes. "But it's working, isn't it? Yuuri Katsuki qualified for the Cup of China, and had surpassed his own personal bests. Neither you nor I may agree with Viktor's methods, but whatever he's doing is molding that Japanese boy into a more competitive skater."

Yuri pulled back his phone, fixing his position so that he could sit up and face his coach much better. He looked at the picture once more before setting his phone down. "Until now, I still want to know what he saw in him." The boy whispered, voice masked with his silence. "You saw him in that photo, right? He  _rarely_ looks like that in photos. He's always either wearing that stupid feigning-innocence grin or that I'll-impregnate-you smirk." Yuri paused, grabbing his phone again to show the photo to Yakov, as if to make a point. "Look at him; why does he look _so_   _damn happy_?"

To Yuri's credit, Yakov had to agree that Viktor indeed seem genuinely happier. He let the skin by his eyes crinkle, his smile open-mouthed and a bit too wide, and his picture taken despite the very unsightly mess his hair was in, probably due to swimming. After years of facing sponsors, cameras and other celebrities, Viktor Nikiforov had perfected the art of pristine smiles: he made sure his eyes were sharp and deep, if not wide and inviting, his lips either in a thin, mysterious smile or a confident, toothy grin, and his hair was  _always_ perfect, not a strand out of place. The Viktor they've seen over the past decade was Viktor the Champion, the Ice God; Yakov was suddenly hit with nostalgia upon realizing that the Viktor in the photo was exactly who he was before his career dictated whom he needed to be. Looking up to the blonde boy, Yakov had found it incredible that the Yuri was able to pick out the difference in Viktor right away, despite not meeting him prior to his shot to stardom.

"He's always happy." The coach choked, wondering if his evasion was as obvious as it felt to him. Yuri frowned.

"No, he's always stupid." The boy said. "Don't bundle me with him and think I don't know the difference."

"Why do you care  _so much_?" Yakov said through gritted teeth, the boy's consistent pestering more worrisome than annoying. Yuri had angrily asked about Viktor ever since the man left, but when confronted as to why he wanted to know, the boy simply snarled and dropped the subject.

Yuri, apparently, had enough of running.

"Because I want to know if finding your match makes you truly happy." The boy said somberly. Yakov was a bit too quick to negate him.

"Foolish boy; who said Vitya and Yuuri Katsuki are a match?"

Yuri couldn't have known; Viktor had just found out the day before, if his call was anything to go by. Yakov shook his head; no, it was all just the boy's wishful thinking.

"Were you and Lilia happy?"

The coach and his student were at a stalemate, until the boy continued to speak. "My parents were happy." He continued. "At least that's what Grandpa told me."

Yakov's silence only urged the boy to speak more. "Nobody talks about these things, about soulmates and soul marks, and we're all left to wonder." He continued. "With the little I hear, it's only the same old song.  _When you find them, you'll know true love and happiness_. Does finding your match truly make you happy?"

This time, Yakov didn't get a chance to answer. The blonde skater pressed on.

"Because I've only ever known two sets of people with confirmed matches, and they're both divorced."

The old coach sighed, rubbing the top of his head. "I can't speak for anyone other than myself, and from experience, this true happiness you speak of, I've found it in many things, not just from my match." He began, his age suddenly more apparent to the young skater. "You go on and on about finding happiness in another person. If you think Vitya had never been truly happy before that picture you saw, then you are forgetting that you've only known him for as long as you've been good enough to skate in my rink."

Yakov stood, cold coffee abandoned, towering over his skater. "Kolya had supplied me enough details about you and where you come from, but your past and the people who linger in it cannot determine where you are headed." He paused, letting his words sink in. He absently palmed his shoulder as he felt his chest tighten at the sight of his student's confusion. Yakov turned his back to Yuri. "The joy of finding your soulmate is unmatched, but only if you will it to be. Don't you forget that."

He heard footsteps, and then the door. The old man felt bitterness spread throughout his body.

***

Lilia had just gotten off the elevator when he found Yuri by their hotel room door, sitting with legs opened wide and pulled to his chest. He was staring at his phone, doing nothing. Lilia was about to scold him for his unsightly posture, until he saw him raise his hand and double tap his screen.

**v-nikiforov**

_**[BeachShower.jpeg]** _

All work and no play makes hot skaters boring boys, after all~

_#beach #katsukiyuuri #yuurionsand #vacation_

**♥️** **yuri-plisetsky** and 10,654 like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! To those who are still here, thank you for believing that this story is worth another read.
> 
> I would also like to thank those who gave supportive comments, and those who still look forward to the rest of the story. :)
> 
> This chapter came out WAY too early, but I post as I finish, to keep the flow >.> sorry about that.


	13. The Sleeping Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor keeps quiet and Yuuri chokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! :)
> 
> The pre-Cup of China get together kind of diverges from canon, but I will still follow the plot as closely as I can; expect canon divergence every now and then. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!

"-and when I asked him to sleep with me, he  _still_ ran away and slammed the door in my face!"

Georgi almost spat out his beer, snickering loudly as Viktor babbled like a child on sugar. The silver-haired man had been recounting his fruitless romantic exploits towards Katsuki Yuuri to Yakov and Georgi as they drank at some local Chinese bar. Yuuri had been taken away from him by the Chinese skater Guang Hong Ji and the US representative Leo de la Iglesia for some G-rated fun. Yuuri, after all, was banned from alcohol and any strenuous activities before the competition, so Viktor thought it was only fair that he'd get to have some fun with his friends while he went out drinking with Yakov. What he didn't expect was for his ex-rink mate to tag along.

"How are you so smooth towards every  _other_ human being, but a total flop towards this crush of yours?" Georgi laughed, taking another swig of his beer. Viktor tried to play it off coolly by shrugging his shoulders and whipping is bangs, but nothing could hide the excitement on his face. Yakov patiently watched the two, actually enjoying the night. He silently prayed that the two had finally outgrown their ridiculous drama queen phases and they could finally have nights out like grown men. "I guess not even  _the_ Viktor Nikiforov could charm all men and women."

"That's because Yuuri is special!" The silver-haired man exclaimed, waving his arm excitedly. "He skates beautifully and could tell a story without music. He doesn't listen to me sometimes, but generally he's very easy to coach!"

"Hah! Now you know how I feel." Yakov couldn't help but say, earning a boom of laughter from the two younger men. "Not as easy as you thought, Vitya?"

"It really is, though," Viktor responded, shifting his gaze from Yakov to Georgi. "He practices a whole lot, even if I don't tell him to. It's like I have to drag him off the ice so that he could sleep! Even I get a lot of practice; I can't help but show him my jumps whenever he asks!"

"It's been one hell of a ride, hasn't it?" Georgi commented, noting the subtle glow on his friend's face. "Sometimes I still can't believe what you did, but I'm glad it's working well for you." Suddenly, the black-haired man's face twisted into a proud smirk. "Too bad, though; your debut as a coach on the international scene would be underwhelming 'cause I'll be winning Gold at the Cup of China!"

Viktor in turn, put on his own confident smirk, eyes accepting Georgi's challenge. "Oh? I hope you aren't all bark and no bite, Georgi," He drawled, initiating a slightly electric staring contest with his friend. Georgi eagerly complied.

"I've got my fangs out,  _Coach_ Viktor, so you don't need to worry."

"That's good; it would be a shame if Yuuri does you in without a fight."

"You're on, Nikiforov."

"Bring it, Popovich."

**"That is enough."**

The two men were already on their feet, hands planted firmly on the table, their foreheads pressed against each other's. The intensity in their glares died out almost immediately, however, at the sound of Yakov's voice. Georgi had the decency to look sheepish, but Viktor recovered almost immediately, bouncing on the balls of his heels. The old coach had to stop himself from slapping his hand to his face. "And here I was, thinking that I had finally graduated from becoming a babysitter."

"How cruel!" Viktor pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. Rolling his eyes, Yakov left the two momentarily as he excused himself to the toilets. In an instant, the friendly air between the two young men turned cold, eyes suddenly averting, looking at anything but each other.

A waiter had come and replenished their drinks, but left immediately upon feeling the awkwardness of the situation.

"Why are you here, Georgi?" Viktor said suddenly. The dark-haired man looked at him without surprise.

"Why are  _you_ here, Viktor?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Georgi sighed, sipping his drink. "You and I both know that I would have never gotten this opportunity if you stayed in Russia. If you did, I might not have qualified for the GPF, what with how good Yuri had become." His voice bled shame and disappointment, but the man carried on. "A win is a win, but I can't help but feel like I've just been in the right place, at the right time. It's not even the Russian representative now. It's the Russian  _representatives_."

Viktor was silently, calculatingly forming his response. "I don't see why that has anything to do with meeting me for a drink." He drawled, voice carefully guarded. Georgi looked away. Ever since the night at the ice rink, their relationship strained; neither wanted to reach out to the other. The last they've exchanged words was that night Georgi wept, Viktor laying still beneath him, accepting all his tears wordlessly.

"I saw your IG posts, and I heard from Yuri." Georgi began, hand folding into a fist. "You told me you  _don't_ play around."

Viktor was taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"You're pursuing someone who's trying to hold back." The dark-haired man said, fury lit in his voice. "You told me you don't go around pretending to be people's matches!"

"I don't! I haven't even confessed!" VIktor lied, biting his lip. His heart sank at his denial.  _'But he_ is _my match.'_

"Bullshit. Do you know how this looks to him?" Georgi spat, pushing him off his chair and leaning towards Viktor. "You fly to his country to coach him over a Youtube video. Yuri told me that this Yuuri Katsuki has been  _pining_ for you, that this person had been admiring you for  _years_. Do you know what this on-a-whim play-coach act you're doing could mean to him? He's at no fault if he believes you're his soulmate."

 _' **He i**_ **s** **_my soulmate_.** ' Viktor thought, but held his peace. Georgi had shoved his face into VIktor's breathing space, but the silver-haired man didn't flinch. The dark-haired skater silently admired the living legend's ability to keep his composure at all times.

"I believed you." He said silently, throwing Viktor off; the older of the two already resigned himself to take the other's verbal abuse. Georgi's blue eyes were pleading and almost watery, that Viktor couldn't help but soften his own gaze. "But you don't know his mark, and he doesn't know yours. There are billions of people on this planet, Viktor; don't put Yuuri Katsuki through this fairy tale you've spun for him if you don't have his happy ending."

The silver-haired man almost laughed at Georgi's dramatic monologue.

 _'He really is my soulmate, though. Sorry, Georgi, but you'll know in time,'_ Viktor apologized internally, keeping his gaze peaceful, locking it with a small smile.

_**"How is it that I leave for five minutes and I find you the same way I left you!?"** _

"Sorry Yakov!" "Sorry Coach."

***

Viktor tried to be as quiet as he could when he entered their hotel room, wondering if Yuuri was still with the two other skaters. They did just arrive that morning, but skater friends rarely had time to see each other, so they'd taken full advantage of the only day without practice. They still had a few days before the actual competition, so VIktor supposed that both he and his student could goof off. To his surprise however, he found Yuuri sitting on the bed, topless.

"V-Viktor!" The man cried, visibly shocked by the Russian's sudden arrival. Viktor looked him over, noting the increased number of  _kizuna engo_ on Yuuri's body. The Japanese man scratched his head, facing his coach fully. "Sorry, I just arrived too and I took a bath; I didn't expect you to come so soon, you usually drink until dawn- ugh, what am I saying?"

The silver-haired man smiled, walking over to his protege and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I didn't want to make my little Pork Cutlet Bowl come to an empty hotel room, but ah, I guess you aren't into late night partying after all."

"After all...?"

Yuuri's eyes widened as Viktor pressed a firm kiss to his lips, soft, silver eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. " _Prosti_ , you ended up waiting for me anyway." He whispered against Yuuri's lips, pressing his forehead against the other man's. It was the Russian's turn to be surprised when he noted the redness of Yuuri's face and at the corners of his glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. Viktor had to close his eyes and compose himself; Yuuri looked  _too_ _vulnerable_ , and the Russian didn't want to push him more than he already had. "Are you tired?"

Yuuri blinked, looking down at Viktor's chest. "I'm fine, I think," He responded, still red in the face. The man sniffed, noting the alcohol mingling with Viktor's cologne. "How was your meeting with Coach Yakov?"

Viktor sighed dramatically, falling to the bed back-first. "I was so happy to see my old coach! But all I got was a scolding every five minutes!" He moaned, peeking through one eye, chest blooming with the fond smile Yuuri was giving him.

"You should be kinder to him, really," Yuuri said softly, sitting on the bed beside Viktor's. The Japanese man smiled shyly, eyes averted; Viktor didn't fail to note the perpetual sadness in his student's eyes, bringing his hand to his face. Yuuri didn't lean into the touch, but at least he didn't push it away.

"What's on your mind, Yuuri?" The Russian asked, relishing the feeling of the other's skin. Yuuri's eyes widened, taking a moment to look at Viktor before turning to the wall.

"Nothing, maybe I'm more tired than I thought I was."

Sitting up, Viktor propped himself on his hand before resting his hand on the other's shoulder, understanding painted all over his face. "Go on and rest, then." He said, standing up. "I'll go wash up, so please don't wait up for me, okay? We have an early start tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"H-huh?!"

Yuuri's face contorted into something like a mix of horror and surprise. Viktor laughed, hopping to his feet and winking at Yuuri before heading to the bathroom. When he was safe behind a locked door, however, the man let his face fall. "Ah, that hurt a bit," He whispered, in Russian, in case Yuuri heard. He clenched his chest over his heart, moving his hand to the right, over his chest, feeling the soft material of the  _kizuna engo_ under his shirt. "This is okay, this slow pace; I can wait."

Slowly, the Russian stripped off his clothing, leaving only the five plasters he'd worn religiously on his body. One by one, the strips were pulled off, revealing pristine skin after pristine skin, until a small golden mark was uncovered. At that, Viktor couldn't help but smile. "It's all right."

As he turned the shower's knob, Viktor couldn't help but moan in delight as the hot water trailed his body, washing away all the grime together with his exhaustion. Absently, he started humming, closing his eyes as he savored the bath, running his fingers through the water-slicked strands of his hair.  _'I wonder what's always on your mind, Yuuri,'_ Viktor thought, turning off the shower and grabbing the soap to lather himself with.  _'I was so happy when we confessed, but your eyes have carried that same heavyhearted gaze ever since.'_

The shampoo came next, the man admiring the soft, powder-like scent of the liquid as he massaged it through his locks and to his scalp.  _'I want to be your lover, but I also want to know what you need me to be right now,'_ The man sighed, leaning onto the tiled wall, letting the shower do the rinsing for him.  _'You said you wanted me to stay as I am, but who am I, really? Viktor the champion? Viktor the coach? **Viktor the playboy**?'_

He scrubbed himself clean, rinsing the last of the soap and shampoo off his body before turning the shower off for good. Stepping out, Viktor wiped the fogged up mirror to get a good look at himself, smiling once more at the sight of his mark. He was reaching towards a box of  _kizuna engo_ when his hand stopped in mid-thought.  _'Do I really need to cover up? It's just Yuuri and I in here.'_

He exited the bathroom without putting on any plasters and with only a towel covering his waist. Shivering slightly at the sudden change in temperature, Viktor continued drying his hair, the temptation to be under the warm comforter getting more and more difficult to deny. Still, he decided that sitting while his hair was wet was definitely better than waking up with a headache due to a wet pillow. As he rubbed the towel gently on his head, Viktor gazed at the back of Yuuri's head, the only part of his body visible from under the fluffy comforter. His breathing was even and there was a snore every now any then, so the Russian knew his student was out cold, unable to wake until the light of day. "You were really tired, huh?" the silver-haired man said, eyes tracing the curves Yuuri's body made from under the comforter. Viktor sighed, tucking himself in the bed beside Yuuri's, turning off the lamp when he was comfortable. The room became nearly pitch-dark, but when the Russian turned to where Yuuri was, his photographic memory supplied him with the silhouette of the man.  _"Sladkikh snov, moya solnyshko."_

***

"You don't need to think of pork cutlet bowls anymore, Yuuri; you an enthrall the judges, the audience,  _me,_ with your own personal charm."

Yuuri gulped, eyes trained on his coach's lips, noting the peach color they had.  _'This is it,'_ The man thought, gaze never leaving Viktor's face. "Don't take your eyes of me."

Viktor needn't speak; his eyes got his message across just as well:  _Never._

As Yuuri took his place in the middle of the ice, the announcers began his introduction. He didn't think about it.  _'The world hates me for the reason that I took Viktor away from skating.'_ Yuuri told himself, his eyebrows meeting in the middle.  _'And yet, they will hate me more for the reason why I will give him back.'_

The frenzied strumming of guitars blared through the speakers, and Yuuri opened his eyes, gaze half-lidded and desire all too honest, a lick to his lips further fanning the fires of sensuality he had begun.  _'Before I give him back, before I fall,'_ He took a turn, entering into another stance.  _'I'll show the world that Viktor Nikiforov is able to make a diamond out of dirt.'_

Yuuri entered into his own dimension as he went through his step sequence, unaware of the audience and the judges' awed reactions to every sway of his hip, every twist of his neck. The Japanese skater paid them no mind, only one watcher truly important to him.  _'Viktor...'_ He thought as he went in for a Sit Spin, closing his eyes as he stood back up to continue the strenuous program.  _'Someday, you'll know that the mark you saw is only artificial, but please, **please**  know that my feelings have been nothing short of real.'_

From a Spread Eagle, Yuuri launched into a perfect Triple Axel, earning cheers from the audience.  _'The playboy will court the beautiful woman, blind to everyone else,'_ Yuuri internally narrated, shooting glances at the blur of Viktor on the sidelines.  _'The woman would deny his advances, but crave his attention.'_

He launched into a Quad Salchow, wowing even the commentators after cleanly making a jump he's barely landed.  _'The playboy is in love and would do anything to have the beautiful woman.'_ Yuuri continued, eyes tearing up but not quite ready to cry.  _'He doesn't know, but the woman had loved him from the very start.'_

_He'll never know, and he will leave._

A Quad Toe Loop Triple Toe Loop combination.

_Because the beautiful woman isn't as beautiful as she made herself out to be._

A spin, then steps leading to a Spread Eagle.

_Because the playboy was never for her, and he will leave when he finds out._

And the final pose, Yuuri crossing his arms over his shoulders, as if to embrace himself.

_Because there are no happy endings, no prince charmings for people like her._

"Katsuki Yuuri had promised a tantalizingly difficult program, and he delivered! Tonight, love wins!"

The spell broke the moment the commentator finished his statement, and Yuuri found himself shivering despite the heat his arduous performance brought him. He bit his lip as he panted, looking down at the flowers and stuffed plush poodle toys tossed to the ice. He didn't take any of them, shakily making his way to the Kiss and Cry. Viktor was already there, a proud smile on his face as he held out his arms, beckoning Yuuri for a hug. Instead, the skater grabbed onto his coach's arm to steady himself, placed his blade guards on and made his way to the Kiss and Cry. He couldn't look at VIktor. Not yet.

"What did it feel, Yuuri? When you skated?" His coach suddenly asked, catching him off guard. Yuuri's heart sank.

_My love for you._

"Did it feel good?"

_Yes, but falling always feels like flying until the crash._

"I just wanted those watching me to feel good." Yuuri mumbled, face frozen in an unfeeling mask.

_Did you feel it? I love you._

His scores were announced, his Short Program breaking the one hundred-point barrier, putting him in first place. Yuuri had to squint to make sure he wasn't hearing things, Viktor clapping his hands and making hearts out of them the entire time. Suddenly, Viktor latched onto him, pulling Yuuri into a warm hug, but the ice of his expression remained.

_And I'll continue to love you, even after you despise me for my sin._

Viktor had cuddled him, still drunk with euphoria over Yuuri's achievement to notice the blank expression he held in his eyes. "Of course we felt good watching you."

_I'll be good with watching you from afar again._

"I couldn't ask for a better student."

_No, I'm actually no good._

"A personal best, even! Yuuri, I'm so proud of you."

_Don't be; I'm not worth it._

The purity of Viktor's smile and sincerity of his affections killed Yuuri. The skater managed to offer him a smile in return, which looked sadder than he anticipated. Viktor's gaze softened and his grin shrank as he offered to bring Yuuri off the Kiss and Cry and to the dressing rooms, where he sat his student down and offered him a bottle of water. "I mean it; you did wonderfully." He praised once more, this time Yuuri offering a more sincere smile in return. "This is a good pace, I'm positive you will make it to the Grand Prix Final!"

"Thank you."

Viktor offered a heart-shaped smile once more, but Yuuri had looked away, focusing on his water bottle, missing how his coach's face fell entirely.

***

Georgi knew Anya was in the audience, but he didn't search for her. No, that would simply hinder his performance, lessen the hate and anguish he so begged to interpret. Viktor having a hand in his Short Program's choreography also helped in fanning the flames of enmity.  _'Anya, Viktor, people like you who seduce others and make them fall in love without a promise of forever...'_ Georgi thought as the music started.  _'I wish I were a witch, to cast a spell of eternal sleep on all of you.'_

The dark-haired skater launched into a Triple Axel, an intense glare shot to his audience.  _'Then, you too will know how it feels to live in a fantastic dream, only to beg to be awaken from a horrible nightmare.'_

He recalled the night clearly, when Anya broke it off with him. He had been depressed and coping with separation anxiety back then, but in retrospect, Georgi should have known that they were never a match. He'd loved Anya  _for years_ , and yet, her mark had only appeared recently.  _'Why, Anya?'_  The man cried, launching himself into a Quad Salchow.  _'Did you simply wanted someone to warm your bed while waiting for the right one to come along? Is that what you're doing, Viktor?'_

He jumped, a mid-air split, landing cleanly as he danced to Carabosse. The audience cheered, enthralled by the spell the Russian skater put them in, a temporary sleep that felt like eternity through the anguish his movements conveyed. Georgi channeled his thirst for vengeance through the music, making one last combination before setting off to an emotional step sequence.  _'You lie.'_ He thought, envisioning Anya and Viktor in his mind, before taking a bow on his knee.

The crowd went wild.

Georgi made it to second, less than five points behind Yuuri, but the Russian had felt nothing less than pride. "The Free Skate will get you more points, just stick to the plan. You can do this, Gosha." Yakov encouraged, and Georgi beamed at the nickname. The old man gave compliments like lottery grand prizes, and he was happy to take what he could get. For once, he'd been on the receiving end of Yakov's proud smile, not Mila, not Yuri,  _not Viktor_.

As the two left the Kiss and Cry, Georgi was able to spy his fellow contenders huddling in front of one of the backstage televisions. He noted the overly enthusiastic Thai with his ever-present smartphone, the kind-eyed Chinese with a perpetual blush on his cheeks, and then there was the reserved Japanese, with a certain clingy, Russian coach draped over him. Georgi couldn't help but sneer. Viktor had clung tightly to Yuuri Katsuki, and the Japanese man looked comfortable encased in his coach's embrace.

"Come, Georgi; we have to address the reporters now so that we can make it back for the final score announcement." Yakov told him, not once sparing a glance at his ex-student and his skater. Georgi nodded, following Yakov, but kept his gaze on Viktor until he could see him no longer.

***

Yuuri couldn't believe his eyes. After the last competitor, he remained on the number one spot, unbeaten for the very first time on the international scene. "Yuuri! This is wonderful!" Viktor exclaimed, as they entered their hotel room. Yuuri sheepishly scratched the back of his head, not really believing the final scoring for the Short Program himself. "What do you want for dinner? I suggest we order room service; we can always go out tomorrow night with the others when the competitions are over." Viktor continued talking excitedly, all the while removing his coat and vest, until he was only in his unbuttoned, white dress shirt. Yuuri blushed at the sight, but paled when he saw that Viktor's torso was devoid of any plaster, a black, nearly unnoticeable laurel leaf peeking through the white fabric.

"Viktor, you didn't wear any patches today!" Yuuri blurted out, worry deepening when his coach simply grinned.

"It's okay, I was wearing so many layers of clothing! Until I moved to Hasetsu, I only wore bandages when I knew there was a chance I'd strip."

"B-but, that's dangerous!" The Japanese man panicked, wincing at Viktor's words. The other man was taken aback, but offered a confident smile.

"Don't worry, Yuuri." He began, taking a seat beside his student. "Try as they might, no one can take me from you. I'll  _always_ know better."

Yuuri flinched even more, as if Viktor's words burned him, and the Russian strained to keep his mask on. "I-I'm sorry, I'm just worried." The Japanese man managed to say before moving to the bathroom and leaving his coach on the bed. A familiar ache welled in Viktor's chest as he felt his ribs, unsure of what had happened.

Inside the bathroom, Yuuri had turned the shower on, but instead of standing under it, he sat by the door and let the water fill the tub. He clenched his hands against his mouth and his stomach, feeling sick enough of himself to vomit, if he had anything in him at all. Tears began falling once more as Yuuri did his best to muffle his sobs by biting onto his hand. Breathing became hard and uneven, but the Japanese man steeled himself, silently taking each painful jerk he felt in his throat. ' _Why did I ever do this?'_ He wept, standing up and stripping his clothing, tearing one  _kizuna engo_ after another from his skin, until he was faced with two glistening marks on both of his hips, one much, much brighter than the other. The silver of the snowflake's wings were perpetually gorgeous, as if starlight had kissed his skin and left a permanent stain. The gold of the Polaris, however, had begun to fade, flecks of skin visible on the flaked star.  _'It's only been three days,'_ Yuuri thought, but recalled the taxing practice he'd had and noted that maybe straining the area with the metallic tattoo would lessen its lifespan.

Yuuri reached for the bathroom cabinet, taking out a massage oil and some cotton, and started rubbing the dampened material onto the star. Slowly, the gold melted onto the cotton, until only the black outline was left with the laurel crown. The man placed the cotton under the tap, running water on it until the gold was a dull, almost invisible brown, before he squeezed all the moisture out and thrown it to the bin. After looking himself over, Yuuri turned the shower knob and enter the half-filled bathtub, wincing slightly when the hot water stung some blisters on his feet. Groaning at the pain and the pleasure the water was giving his sores and muscles, Yuuri settled in, neck-deep in the steaming bath. "I have to tell him." He said, resigned and all cried out.

As he closed his eyes, Yuuri allowed himself to sink deeper into the water, until everything from the nose below was submerged. He absently blew bubbles, thumbs drawing circles on both his hips. His chest hurt at the stark difference of his soul mark and his sin, the copy of Viktor's mark bland and  _dead_ compared to the elusive image Yuuri was sure he didn't deserve. He gazed at the shower head, mind drifting in and out of sleep, the steam lulling him with siren songs only he could hear.  _'The steam looks like Viktor's hair,'_ The man thought unconsciously, recalling his coach's youth, an androgynous deity with thin limbs and a long body, long, lively hair made from starlight, and bright eyes like blue zircon.  _"I love you, Yuuri."_ The deity said, and Yuuri felt tears prickling his eyes once more, not wanting to look into the other man's warm eyes, at the same time, unable to turn away.

"Viktor..." Yuuri whimpered, unworthiness washing over him as the bright silhouette of his coach grew older, until the locks started falling off, revealing the Viktor of the present.  _"I love you, Yuuri._ "

"I love you too." The Japanese skater cried softly, watching as the silhouette's silver locks fill the tub, snaking around his thighs, arms, and his neck. Fear started to simmer inside him, as the embrace of the starlight locks began choking him,  _and he couldn't breath._

 _"I love you, Yuuri._ " The silhouette chanted over and over, eyes never turning away, never blinking. Yuuri tried to reach out, but found himself paralyzed by the hair that held him hostage. His vision started to blur, and his eyes stung, his fear solidifying even more as his captor's eyes burned with blue-hot fire.

_"I love you Yuuri."_

_'I love you Viktor.'_ Yuuri thought, unable to speak and no longer able to breathe. The silhouette smiled.

_"I love you Yuuri."_

_'I... love you... Viktor.'_ Yuuri responded, a ringing sound deafening his ears. The silhouette smiled wider, teeth bared.

_"I love you Yuuri."_

_'I... l-lo-ove...'_ Yuuri couldn't even finish his thoughts as he choked, vision splotched with inky darkness, the ringing sound accompanied by the loud thumping of his heart.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

_"I love you Yuuri."_

Ba-dump.  **Ba-dump.**

_"...love you Yuuri."_

**Ba-dump. BA-DUMP.**

_"...you Yuuri."_

**BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP!**

_"...Yuuri."_

**BA-DUMP! BA-DUMP! BANG. BANG. BANG.**

_"Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri!"_

**_BANG._ **

**"YUURI! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!"**

His eyes shot open, and the shower head above him swam. His whole vision swam, and there was a loud banging on the door, as well as a muffled voice from a desperate man. Yuuri, realizing that he'd fallen asleep and submerged, immediately shot out from the water, gasping for air and grasping his chest, feeling for his own heartbeat. Shakily, he turned to the door, which looked as if it was ready to splinter any moment- what with the constant hammering and shouting from the other side- and opened his mouth.

"I-I'm okay!"

_"Thank God! Let me in, Yuuri!"_

"J-just a moment!"

The thumping stopped, and Yuuri found the strength to stand up, wobbling to sit on the toilet. He patted himself dry with shivering limbs, grabbing a handful of plasters and haphazardly placing them on his body. He was more careful when covering the two marks on his hips, making sure not to leave any feature visible. Contented, the man wrapped a towel around his waist, hands still shaking, and opened the door. He was immediately swallowed into Viktor's warm embrace, and Yuuri froze at the tightness of the contact.

_I love you Yuuri._

With all that was left of his nerves, Yuuri managed not to push Viktor away, but didn't have the strength to return the embrace. " _Bozhe moi_ , you scared me to death!" Viktor whispered, voice low and shaky. "You started crying, and then I could hear choking sounds from behind the door, and splashing,  _so much splashing_ , and _oh my God_."

"I-I'm sorry," Yuuri croaked, realizing how sore his throat fell. "I-It was just so w-warm, and I-I fell asleep..."

" _Solnyshko_ , do  **not** do that again." Viktor growled, pressing fervent kisses to the side of Yuuri's head, never letting him out of his arms.

"I'm sorry..." Yuuri wept, finally allowing himself to return the embrace. The choking feeling came back.

_I love you Yuuri._

***

It was two in the morning, and in the darkness, Yuuri's eyes were wide open.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sladkikh snov, moya solnyshko - sweet dreams, my sun  
> bozhe moi - my God


	14. Time to Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's friends reach out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named Chris' boyfriend Lysandre Desrosiers here, and I believe he's French? idk
> 
> Also, Stéphane Lambiel is here, but he's the YOI Stéphane Lambiel, the sportscaster (who will also be French), and not the amazing skater IRL.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

"Yuuri, you didn't sleep well last night, did you?"

Yuuri shook his head, noting the worry in his coach's voice, despite the usual lilt in it and the smile Viktor always wore. He could pick out where exactly his mouth twitched, trying to keep up the mask that threatened to crack, where exactly in his eyes did he lack luster, and where exactly in his voice did the living legend revealed that he was less than happy. "I slept a little..." Yuuri responded, not even believing himself. In an instant, Viktor had ushered him out of the stadium, and they were on a taxi going back to their hotel room. "V-Viktor! I have my Free Skate tonight!"

The silver-haired man tutted and pressed a slender finger to the skater's lips. "Yes,  _tonight_. That is why you will get your eight hours of sleep  _this morning._ " He said with finality, not even the sweetness of his smile able to deter the venom in his voice. Yuuri had no choice but to agree. Viktor sighed, gazing as his zombie-faced student. "I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, so please wake me up if ever this happens again, all right? If I can't help you sleep, at least I can be awake with you."

Yuuri turned away. "It's okay, it's my fault. Besides, what good would it do for both of us to lack sleep?"  The skater responded, voice laden with guilt, guilt that morphed into something uglier and more terrifying when Viktor put his arm around him.

_I love you Yuuri._

The choking feeling came back, invisible tendrils wrapping around his neck, his chest, and it took all of him to not push Viktor away. "I have an idea." The silver-haired man suddenly said, catching Yuuri's attention and momentarily breaking the asphyxiating spell he was feeling. Blue eyes turned admiringly to him, Viktor even throwing in a smile to calm him down. "I'll stay beside you, and show you a little magic trick my _Babushka_   used to do to get me to sleep."

Yuuri pouted with a slight blush. "I-I'm no kid, you know." Viktor only beamed.

"Ah, but I still use it on myself until now! But oh, it's not so effective when I do it to myself, because it requires me to be, well, awake."

"Right."

The tendrils receded, Yuuri allowing himself to relax, and he was calm enough when they alighted the taxi and entered their hotel room. Immediately after the lock had clicked, Viktor grabbed Yuuri's jacket and started peeling it off, along with his clothes. The soft pink of his cheeks rapidly changed to a dangerous red that encompassed his entire face. "W-what are you doing?!" He squeaked, unable to stop his coach from removing his undershirt. When Viktor didn't answer and moved to separate him from his shoes, Yuuri bolted to the bed, face scandalized and a bit scared. Viktor just smirked.

"Naughty brain you have there, Yuuri."

"A-as if I could think of anything else!"

Viktor laughed, removing his own jacket, leaving him in his sleek dress pants and a skin-tight turtleneck sweater. Yuuri gulped at the sight of Viktor's muscles, tastefully visible from the thin cloth. "I tend to fall asleep better when I'm naked, and since you've never tried it, you can't knock it." He said, approaching his protege and pushing him down on the bed, back first. Yuuri's blush reached his neck, and soon his hands had flown into his face.

Viktor was looking down on him, sitting on the bed and leaning, supported by two well-toned arms planted on each side of Yuuri's head. His eyes were half-lidded and mesmerizing, the shadows on his face darkening his irises into a more hypnotizing color. The loose bangs he had on the left side of his face fell softly, a silvery curtain where Yuuri could view the nakedness of Viktor's feelings. The warmth of Yuuri's body dropped to a comfortable temperature, the color of his skin normalizing, save for the dusting of red on his cheeks, and the skater felt his eyelids become heavier and heavier. "I-is this the magic trick...?" He managed to slur. Viktor chuckled, but shook his head.

"No, I was supposed to hug you as you slept while writing 'I love yous' on your back, but it seems like this is working just as well."

Yuuri didn't hear past 'I love you' when he finally fell into his much-needed slumber.

_I love you Yuuri._

***

Once he was sure that Yuuri would not wake, Viktor straightened up, stretching his sore back.  _'How long had I been hunched over?'_ He thought with a silent laugh as he covered his student with a blanket, absently counting the seven plasters he had on his body. The coach laughed fondly.  _'Really so careful, aren't you, Yuuri?'_

The silver-haired man moved to lie down in his own bed, pulling out his phone to take a selfie with his sleeping student. Considerately, Viktor angled the photo to show only the blanket on Yuuri's figure, obscuring his student fully with his face.

**v-nikiforov**

_**[Sleepy.jpeg]** _

I guess it wasn't just me who sleeps 'til the last minute during competitions!

_#sleepy #GPFSeries2016 #CupOfChina_

**♥️** **christoph-gc**  and 345 like this.

"That was fast." Viktor whispered, almost tossing his phone when it started vibrating.

_**Chris G.** is calling._

Shooting one last look at his sleeping skater, Viktor tiptoed to the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as he could. "Why hello there, Chris!"

 _"Why are you whispering, Coach Viktor?"_ Came Chris' honey-covered voice.  _"Never mind. Are you back at the hotel? Coach and I have been looking all over for you!"_

"Sorry, I needed to bring Yuuri back for a nap." The silver-haired apologized, making an unconscious hand gesture of putting his hand near his face and bowing. He made sure to laugh at himself later for it. "How can I be of service?"

_"Ah! You remember Lysandre, don't you?"_

Viktor pouted playfully. "Of course I do! He was  _my_ friend first, your beau second."

_"Who cares who met him first? What matters is whom he went home to every night."_

The silver-haired man rolled his eyes; he could almost see Chris throwing his hand on his head for dramatic effect. Viktor paused after realizing the sentence construction. "'Went?'"

 _"People break up; it happens."_ Chris' voice was as smooth as it was when they started talking, as if he didn't just say what he did. The Russian felt an uneasy knot in his stomach.

"What happened?"

He could almost see Chris waving him off.  _"Just normal things, space, personality, the entire package. It's not that bad, I assure you; Lysandre and I have remained more or less the same, without the sex, of course."_

"I'm sure." Viktor jested, still itching to pry, but knew it was in bad taste to do it through phone. Chris, on the other hand, blabbered on.

_"Do you remember you sportscaster friend, Stéphane?"_

"What? Chris, I am not  _that_ forgetful-"

_"Hush! Anyway, Stéphane and Lysandre hope to catch up with you in Barcelona at the finals. You do realize that it's already been a whole year since they've seen you in the flesh."_

Viktor's expression softened. "Ah, I guess that's my fault. I've just been so engrossed with coaching Yuuri that I didn't want to lose focus." He paused. "Chris, when was this? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when the breakup happened."

Chris paused. _"Don't be such a mother hen now, Viktor; you of all people should know that I'm never bad at breakups."_ His frivolous voice, however, carried an ounce of poignancy.  _"As I said, Lysandre and I, there is no bad blood between us. We started as good friends, and we ended as better friends. Now, can we discuss how important it is for Yuuri to get to Barcelona, because I am not telling Stéphane that you won't be coming because your skater didn't make the cut."_

"All right, all right," Viktor conceded, a content smile on his face. He'd take Chris out drinking before they left China, that's for sure. "I'll go call Lysandre and Stéphane myself after today, but you can tell them that for sure I will make it up to all of you in Barcelona. I just hope you won't take it too strongly when you take Silver before Yuuri's Gold."

Laughing was heard on the other side.  _"Don't push me out of the ring yet, Nikiforov. I may be less motivated this year because my rival suddenly decided to play teacher, but I take my skating very seriously."_

"Good to hear."

_"And Viktor? It was after the banquet in Sochi."_

Viktor's breath hitched, unable to find the words to say. He tried to recall what happened at the banquet, but all he could remember was the drunk Japanese skater who ground against him, asking him to be his coach. The silver-haired man swore internally, berating himself for not ever checking on his friend.

 _"Anyway, I'm going to do a few laps on the rink before lunch with Coach. Make sure to set an alarm for little Yuuri and yourself._ À tout à l’heure. _"_

" _À très bientôt_ , Chris."

After ending the call, Viktor found himself on his IG post once again.

**v-nikiforov**

_**[Sleepy.jpeg]** _

I guess it wasn't just me who sleeps 'til the last minute during competitions!

_#sleepy #GPFSeries2016 #CupOfChina_

**♥️** **christoph-gc** ,  **stephane.l** ,  **s4ndre-desrosiers**  and 45,987 like this.

With a smile, Viktor scrolled through his contacts. The least he could do was cross the bridges he'd long ignored.

" _Allô, Stéphane; c’est Viktor à l’appareil._ "

***

When Viktor re-entered the bedroom, he'd nearly jumped over his own bed to get to his student. Yuuri, writhing in his sleep, managed to entangle himself with his blanket, the seemingly innocuous cloth wrapped around his arms and legs. "Yuuri! Steady, I'm here, I'm here," The coach chanted, removing his skater's limbs from their entrapment. Yuuri's eyes shot wide open, but the manic look he gave Viktor indicated that he was still dreaming. With cold sweat on his brow, the Russian immediately wrapped his arms around the smaller man, only to meet with the man's ungodly screech, to which he let him go. "What's going on, Yuuri?!"

Viktor, in his panic, ran to the bathroom once more to fill a glass with water, and with one apology, splashed the liquid onto his thrashing student's face. Yuuri screamed again, but not soon after awoke, his coach right beside him in a heartbeat. "I'm here, I'm here, Yuuri."

Viktor was warm and all over him, and despite the comfort the man was giving him, Yuuri only felt the familiar silver locks encroaching upon him.

_I love you Yuuri._

***

"There is something you aren't telling me."

The coach and his student had stayed in their position for an hour, Viktor whispering soft reassurances and Yuuri trying his best to stifle his sobs. The Russian had little to no idea on what was going on in Yuuri's head, but finally had enough of guessing. "Yuuri, talk to me, please?"

"Just a bad dream," The Japanese man sniffled, rising from where he laid, pulling the blanket off him completely, as if it were poisoned. "I'm sorry."

His coach simply shook his head, eyes almost as tired as Yuuri's. "I'm worried about you." He whispered, unsure of how to phrase his feelings correctly. "I know that these past few months have been a roller coaster ride for you, what with the GPF and... and our revelation." Viktor paused, checking Yuuri for subtle reactions. Sure enough, he was able to catch the fear in his skater's eyes, the twitch of his lip, when he implied their match. The Russian tried his best not to feel heartbroken. Resigned, he placed his hand on Yuuri's shoulder as he stood up with his practiced smile. "I'm here for you, but I won't pressure you into telling me anything you don't wish to disclose, okay? I'll go out for a bit to get some lunch; try to get some rest if you you can."

By instinct, Viktor leaned in for a kiss, but froze when a glint of panic flashed through Yuuri's face. Trying not to skip a beat or reveal the unsteady shake of his hands, he flashed his student a heart-shaped smile, grabbed his coat and disappeared through the door. Aside from a quiver of his lower lip, Viktor thanked heavens that his mask did not break, a pleasant grin on display not betraying the man crumbling from inside.  _'What's going on?'_ He thought as he waved to some organizers and fans, even taking a photo with some of them.  _'Why isn't he telling me anything?'_

Making his way to the hotel restaurant (and calling the attention of the entire room once more), Viktor sat down on one of the oriental-looking tables, a menu placed in front of him soon after. He really didn't think about the food, ordering what Yakov would have ordered for him if he were the one competing, and settled into uncharacteristic silence as he waited for his and Yuuri's meals. He absently wondered if the slow cooking time was heaven sent for giving him ample time to think and calm down, or the devil's doing to prolong his suffering.

 _'Does he not feel the same after all?'_ He thought, quickly shoving the thought out of his head the moment it came. The memory of Yuuri's red-faced confession was too sincere, too heartfelt to be something untrue. Viktor firmly believed that his student did share his feelings, but he couldn't help the nagging at the back of his head, noting that with every step forward he took, Yuuri had taken two steps back. Frustration got him running his hand through his hair, tousling the carefully styled locks, but nothing eased his anxiety. Yuuri had let him have his hugs and kisses, but never had the man initiated himself; he'd looked at him fondly whether he knew Viktor saw or not, but not once did he say 'I love you' back.

_When you find him, you will know._

_'But I know it_ is _him, Bab'ka,_ _'_ Viktor whined in his head, leaning back.  _'I've truly never felt this madly in love with anyone before. I might even love him more than I love you, my dear grandmother.'_

The Russian shook his head, as if it would banish the headache slowly amplifying in it. It was really not the time to be distracted, what with the last event they'd have that night, the Free Skate, and Viktor had to remind himself that since he was the coach, he needed to be the one with the leveled head.  _'I really should have gotten some pointers from Yakov,'_ The man thought fondly, knowing full well that the older coach would bite his head off before sharing his secrets with him at such short notice. Viktor had a hunch, though, that what set Yakov aside from the other coaches was his ability to tolerate his skaters' individual eccentricities, allowing them to explore their capacities but keeping the leash just long enough they didn't stray away from the main point.

Shamelessly, the silver-haired man dialed his old coach, cooing at the perfectly-time ID picture of Yakov that he'd taken before getting an earful of Russian expletives. His phone rung twice, thrice, four times, but his coach picked up just in the middle of the fifth. "Yakov! You always stare at your phone first when I call you!" Viktor whined.

_"It's because I try to keep my blood pressure down, Vitya. What do you want? You're lucky Georgi is currently doing warm-ups. Where are you and your boy anyway?"_

"We're back at the hotel, just doing some last-minute snoozing!" Viktor beamed, not ready to disclose their current predicament. Yakov groaned from the other end.

 _"I doubt your skater is as good as you are to forego practice before the Free Skate. Don't rub off your laziness on the boy!"_ Yakov scolded, and instead of insult, all Viktor felt was nostalgia, a certain comfort in the familiarity of the situation, despite the circumstances.  _"You can't simply just be calling because you were bored, can you?"_

Viktor bit the inside of his cheek.  _"_ Well, no, I wanted to ask for advice, but that entails telling the enemy of our current position," He quipped, opting to push back his questions until after their event. "So yes, I think I'll go with I'm bored, for now."

 _"For God's sake."_ The older coach groaned before the call ended with a click, his ex-student laughing heartily to himself. No, he didn't solve any of his problems, but he'd cheer for the small victory of pissing his former coach off remotely.

"I'd know that laugh anywhere, Coach Viktor."

Turning around, the silver-haired coach smiled when he recognized Chris and his coach, Josef Karpisek as they were entering the restaurant. Chris immediately took a seat beside Viktor, Josef following shortly, whom Viktor shared a short handshake with. "What a pleasant coincidence that you'd chosen this restaurant as well." The Russian greeted. The Swiss skater smiled at him, pulling out a round-frame pair of glasses from his bag, putting it one before looking at the menu.

"I had a hunch you'd be here; we haven't had too much time to talk ever since the Cup of China started." Chris drawled, perusing the listing still. Josef simply smiled, checking the menu as well from Chris' side.

"How is coaching, Viktor?" Josef suddenly asked, turning to the Russian with a glint of pride in his eyes. "We were skeptic, but it seems that you really have a knack for surprising the audience, whether it's you on the ice or not."

"I cannot take all the credit; my choreography and encouragement are nothing if they fell on left feet and deaf ears." Viktor responded confidently. "Yuuri himself is the perfect interpretation of my wishes and feelings."

Chris let out a low whistle. "Do I hear wedding bells ringing?" He teased, a knowing smile on his lips. "I guess wishes do come true, if one begs fervently enough."

The coaches needed to muffle their laughs on their sleeves, recalling the drunken Japanese maniac on the dance floor during the last GPF banquet. "Nothing of the sort, Chris; I am getting to know my student a little bit more everyday, and I'm sure I'll be able to effectively flesh out his full potential very soon."

"I personally look forward to it." Josef nodded, raising his hand to call out to a waiter. "Chris here would need the motivation, and since Yuuri Katsuki is the closest to an avatar of you, I believe he'd be most fit for the job."

"An avatar, you say? My, Josef, you flatter me!"

 Another laugh erupted from the three Europeans. "Let me go out for a smoke, bad habit of mine before and after meals." The older coach excused himself, moving to the smoking area of the restaurant. Chris and Viktor followed his broad back with slight worry, the former sighed exasperatedly.

"Can you believe it? More than ten years I've tried to make him quit, and he we are, still at square one." The Swiss moaned, resting his head on his palm.

"We all have our poisons, I suppose." Viktor responded, not really approving of Josef's vice either. Anyway, it was not his place to judge, considering the amount of alcohol he consumed, and nobody really believes the Russian liver thing either. Chris just nodded in agreement.

"So, I'm guessing you'd like to know what happened between us?"

The Russian paused. "Nothing you'd rather not have me know."

Chris just laughed. "For another time then."

As if to dissolve the forming awkward moment, the waiter had come with Viktor's purchases to go, all wrapped up nicely and placed in luxurious paper bags. The Russian swiped his credit card onto the terminal, signed the receipt and thanked the server. "I best be off to my student now, he must be starving and I never thought this place took its time with their preparations." Viktor bid Chris, standing up.

"Go on, Coach."

With a nod, he left his long-time friend, waving at Josef from the door, before making his way back up their room.

"Huh, he could have stayed a bit longer." The older coach said as he rejoined his skater on the table. Chris simply waved him off with a knowing smile.

"What good is freshly cooked food if he lets it go cold?" The skater responded, eyeing the waiter who was carrying their own order. "Besides, whether he knows it or not, he's fallen dangerously in love with Katsuki Yuuri. It's not like him to wear his heart on his sleeve like this, but he looks happier, so I guess it's for the best."

Josef took a moment to process his student's words before offering him a sympathetic smile. "I wish I could say the same for you." He said, nodding to the waiter who'd placed their meals in front of them. "Years of unmatched friendship and rivalry between you two must have fostered your nearly-magical ability to read Viktor, but I've been with you from the moment you wanted to skate, and I will be with you until the moment you decide to stop. I can read you just as well, Chris."

The smile on Chris' face stayed, but as he bowed his head, the shadow over his lips revealed the constant quiver it must have had the entire time. Only when he found Josef's hand on his shoulder did he look up in surprise. "I've never hidden anything from you, Coach."

Josef chuckled. "I hope you never find reason to." As he cooled his congee with stirring, the elder man Chris a sympathetic  smile. "Have you spoken with Lysandre recently?"

The Swiss skater stilled. Josef frowned. "Not since the day after last year's GPF banquet, I wager."

"We've spoken, just through Stéphane."

"You're not fighting, are you?"

Chris laughed. "Of course not; he's just being an idiot, which is nothing new."

Josef sighed. "I'll try reaching out to him again; hopefully this time, you both get the closure you deserve."

"Hopefully the only closure I get is him and I behind a hotel door."

Josef sputtered, nearly spitting out his congee.

***

"Yes, yes, it's very kind of you to reach out to me, Viktor."

_"No, no; I've been very unfair to you all. I promise I'll make time for Barcelona. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. It's nice to know you'd be the one covering GPF Barcelona for EuroTV."_

"What can I say? Seeing you and Christophe on international television made me want to be on it too."

A laugh erupted from the phone speaker.

_"Well, then; until we meet in a few months, right, Stéphane?"_

Stéphane Lambiel let out an airy laugh. "Of course, Viktor."

When the call ended, the brunette turned to his companion, eyeing the man carefully. Said man just sent him a pleading look. "Why, Stéphane?"

"Why not? We haven't seen Viktor ever since that surprise visit he and Chris made in France last year."

The taller man sighed, leaning against the wall. "This is your and Chris' idea, isn't it?"

"Well, it definitely isn't yours, Lysandre."

The other man, Lysandre Desrosiers, blew a loose strand off his face, standing straight and moving to the door. "Don't do this to yourself, Sandre." Stéphane growled, grabbing Lysandre by the shoulder, not even the tearful look on the taller man's face enough to make the French reporter flinch. "It's been  _years_ ; you've been over this, there is absolutely no reason for you to cling onto her."

Lysandre looked aghast. "She was your _sister_ , how can you say that?"

Stéphane didn't blink. "It's because she was  _my_ sister that I can speak like this."

Lysandre shook off the smaller man's hand, exiting the house as silently as he could. His car could only go so fast, but the Frenchman had to make sure that he arrived before he broke down. Thankfully, the traffic was nearly non-existent, and Lysandre was parked in a few minutes. Exiting his car, the man looked up to the elaborate arch, sighing as he read the words carved onto the sturdy stone.

_Cimetière des roses_

As its name implied, the cemetery was filled with roses of various colors, both artificial and naturally-occurring. Almost every grave was surrounded by blooming flowers, the colors ironically giving the place life. The smell suffocated Lysandre, but he trudged on until he was in front of polished light pink marble headstone, engraved in gold. Only then did the man allow himself to weep.

"I've been coming here more often," He whispered. "Hello again, Dominique."

_Dominique Desrosiers-Lambiel_

_Février 14, 1984 - Août 3, 2011_

_Sœur, amié, épouse bien-aimée_

_Danseuse sur glace au Paradis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT:
> 
> A big THANK YOU to Merelhyn and RippedApart [I still don't know how to hyperlink :( ] for helping me with the translations! Google translate could only do so much so I appreciate the time and effort you gave in helping me improve this chapter. <3
> 
> I added another dead OC. Dominique Desrosiers-Lambiel was Stéphane's older sister and Lysandre's wife. She won't have any flashback scenes, though.
> 
> I'm not sure how the French write their double-surnames, if they write them like that at all, on tomb stones, so feel free to correct me! Also, the French in this chapter are either taken from basic French self-help sites and Googe Translate.
> 
> À tout à l’heure - see you later  
> À très bientôt - see you very soon  
> Allô, Stéphane; c’est Viktor à l’appareil. - Hello Stéphane; it's Viktor.  
> Cimetière des roses - Rose Cemetery  
> Février - February  
> Août - August  
> Sœur, amié, épouse bien-aimée - Sister, Friend, beloved wife  
> Danseuse sur glace du Ciel - Ice Dancer in Heaven


	15. Until Dawn Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri loses his demons, and Viktor gains the only thing he's ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! :)
> 
> More canon divergence here, but Cup of China results would still be the same. :)
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading!

Katsuki Yuuri was a  _mess_.

The skin around his reddish eyes had a constant shadow, almost on par with Georgi's makeup the day before, and he was pale as a sheet. Whatever energy Yuuri was on had obviously begun to dwindle away, his movements sluggish and half a beat slower, his thoughts and speech mixing like oil and water. Viktor had half the mind to ask the poor man to withdraw, but knew in himself that it would only end up badly if he brought up the subject. As Yuuri poorly practiced the movements that should have been second nature to him, his coach decided that it was a problem he could no longer handle on his own. Excusing himself, Viktor made his way to Phichit Chulanont, who was drinking water on one of the benches. What surprised him, however, was the panicked, wide-eyed look the Thai gave him the moment he closed their gap.

"V-Viktor!" The younger man exclaimed, standing in attention, nearly toppling over his things and spilling his drink. He took a moment to marvel at the young in Phichit's face, realizing how young the competition was becoming, before offering his a small smile.

"Phichit Chulanont, right?" Viktor greeted, holding out his hand. If Phichit's grasp was a bit too quick and tight, the Russian didn't say. "You are doing very well. How is your first GPF run so far?"

The man cracked an awkward smile, so unlike how the silver-haired coach saw him on his multiple IG posts. "It's great! I'm having so much fun." He noted how Phichit's eyes moved from side to side, as if he were nervous. "S-so, what's up?"

Viktor then decided that it was not the time. "Just looking around, and hiding from Yakov," He lied in an attempt to dispel the tension between them. The younger man's face contorted in confusion, before bursting into laughter, making an expression the Russian was more familiar with.

"You're going the wrong way then, Viktor! Georgi was just here and I'm sure Coach Yakov would be tailing him any minute now."

"Ah, which way did Georgi come from, and where did he go?"

It was all a farce, Viktor thought, but there was no way he could live with himself if Phichit threw off his program because he came to him about Yuuri's problems. From his standing after Skate America, the man needed to score second or higher to qualify for the final event, after all. Viktor huffed a frustrated breath. He was the coach,  _damn it_ , and in retrospect, he should have tried harder to fix the issue on his own.  _'I need to think, fast.'_ Viktor grumbled to himself, hands in tight fists as he made his way to the restroom. Thankful for the privacy, the Russian leaned onto one of the sinks, looking himself in the mirror, allowing his hand to palm his right set of ribs through the thick fabrics of his clothes. Immediately, he plugged up the sink and let the water run, waiting until there was enough for him to cup and splash his face with.

_Splash._

"Focus!"

_Splash._

"What.Do.I.Do?"

_Splash._

"Damn it!"

_"What is it with all the angry Russian ramblings in here?"_

Viktor was wet-faced and slightly embarrassed when he faced Christophe Giacometti, who was still in his Free Skate costume. The Swiss was wearing his signature smolder, eyes bright and wide, and skin glistening with sweat, obviously fresh from the Kiss and Cry. "Good job, Chris," The Russian said, out of habit, immediately wanting to slap himself for the misstep. Chris just pouted.

"You didn't even watch, Coach Viktor."

"Uh, yeah, needed to sort something out."

Chris took his place beside the other man, fists planted on his hips. Viktor followed his arms; he came to a conclusion that his friend  _may not_ be wearing any underwear beneath his costume, and chose to look away. "Well, you can sort that out  _after_ the event. Phichit would be on the ice in a few minutes and Yuuri's found himself holed up in a corner of the waiting area. Oddly enough, all the televisions were turned off too."

Viktor shrugged guiltily, nodding to his friend. "Right." A smile. "I'll go cuddle my adorable student now. Bye, Chris!"

"Oh, Viktor." The Swiss mumbled after his companion left. "What  _is_ going on, I wonder?"

***

"Have you seen Viktor?" Yuuri asked one of the staff, who'd just shook their head. The Japanese man thanked them, retreating back to his seat, a pool of dread in his stomach.  _'I didn't even noticed that he wasn't here anymore.'_

Yuuri watched as Guang Hong sulked at the Kiss and Cry, feeling an involuntary shiver go through him.  _'He didn't do so well, maybe I can still...?'_ The Japanese man shook his head.  _'No, stop it. You can't do anything short of your best. You have to let the world see how good you've become at Viktor's tutelage!'_

The man cringed when Chris' entry was announced, and he couldn't help but look. His stomach dropped to his feet when he realized that it was a totally different monster than the Chris of the Short Program. Sick to the stomach but with nearly nothing to vomit, Yuuri ran to the televisions, turning each and every one of them off.  _'No, no, no, nonononononono,'_ His mind screamed.  _'Don't look, don't look; keep it together, damn it! You have to make the podium!'_ The man grasped his hair, not minding if he messed up the carefully styled locks.  _'You have to show everyone that you became good enough, that even a weed like you thrived because Viktor loved you.'_

His breath hitched, and Yuuri couldn't breath.

_I love you Yuuri._

He heard voices, but the words were a mix of Chinese and English, warping into some unintelligible gibberish, and it asphyxiated him even more. He was drowning, and he felt hands all over him, as if pulling him deeper, faster into his own personal hell.  _'Breath. Breath, Yuuri.'_ The Japanese skater tried to think, praying to any God out there, if they'd listen, to just let everything stop so he could skate a good program.  _'Please, snap out of it! Don't let all his hard work go to waste. Please.'_

All the hands disappeared, two strong arms pulling him up to a chest. The invisible tendrils slithered away, and Yuuri was staring into striking blue eyes. "V-Viktor...?"

" _Bozhe moi_ , are you all right?!" Viktor exclaimed, forehead wrinkling in concern. "Come, I'll bring you somewhere private."

"But the Free Skate-"

"-is still half an hour away. Come."

As he was ushered to the emergency stairwell, Yuuri allowed his mind to go blank, focusing on the silver of Viktor's hair, confused at the droplets of water on the tips of his bangs. "Why are you wet?" He asked dumbly. His coach didn't look at him, but kept pulling him to the underground parking lot. "Viktor?"

Two earphones were slotted into him, his Free Skate music filling his head. "Focus." Viktor mouthed, holding Yuuri by the shoulders. "Breathe."

"Okay." The skater respond, closing his eyes and letting out a puff of air. Slowly, he concentrated on enacting the movements that he could, struggling to remember which came after what. His mind was a mess, and his nerves made it worse, but he had to try. Viktor was there and he believed in him, despite the skater's unworthiness, and Yuuri would rather die than tarnish the living legend's pristine reputation more than he already knew he would. Breathing in, the man finally found his center, albeit fragile, and started to move more fluidly than before.

The beginning of the music was a continuous play of a family of notes, like a child's innocent admiration.

_Remember when you saw him? You fell in love at that very moment._

Yuuri opened his arms, starting from his center and ending with his hands to his sides. Yuuri remembered young Viktor, with his starlight hair billowing with every spin, jump and glide that he made. He had to bite back a sob.

_His soulmate fell in love at that very moment as well. But you didn't know that._

Yuuri spun, stroke a pose, and spun again, recalling how bumpy yet uplifting his run had been, while he was just starting out as a Junior skater. He'd had his fair shares of wins and losses, but the JSF thought him good enough to be certified.

_You expressed your love by following him like a dream. You were contented with staying asleep._

The music picked up the pace, subtle strings joining in the fray. That was it, the struggle, the realization that being the best in the country counted almost for nothing when competing against the world. Yuuri was number one, and then he was number three, until he was all the way down at number six, and the man realized that he wasn't as good as he hoped himself to be.

_Where did you find the will to stop dreaming? When did you start thinking that you were good enough to wake up?_

For some reason, ethnic drums and cymbals intermingled with the piano and strings, and it was a cacophony of confusion, as if the music was torn between letting him sleep and waking him up. Soon, his movements became rigid and erratic, following the beats and clangs of the intruder, until he could no longer hear the music of his life.

_What happens next? Do you know? Will you wake him up too? Will you tell him the truth? What will you do then?_

Yuuri pulled out the earphones, opened his eyes and stared at his feet, unable to look his coach in the face.  _'I failed. I can't do this.'_ He mulled over. The muffled music that overwhelmed his own was apparently Phichit's song, Terra Incognita, and it sounded so different from the looming darkness it presented as it engulfed his own Free Skate piece.

"Yuuri?" Viktor called out, but Yuuri couldn't look at him, not yet. The music stopped, and then silence came, followed by thunderous cheers and a round of applause. Phichit had done it, wonderfully too, based on how the viewers reacted. The Japanese skater knew he should have felt elated for his friend, but all he felt was fear, shame and envy.

 _'Why? Why? Why? Why couldn't I be better?'_ He screamed in his head. When the score was announced, Yuuri's eyes widened in defeat.

Viktor has had enough.

He clamped his hands over Yuuri's ears, a bit more harshly than intended, with a face much more severe than he felt.

"Don't listen!"

And it was silent. The applause didn't stop, but Yuuri could only hear his and his coach's breathing. Staring into Viktor's eyes, Yuuri crumbled at the sight of the man's own fears and doubts, equally afraid at how  _easy_ it had become for him to read the man he'd long believed as a beautiful enigma. There were times in his childhood that Yuuri wished that he could know everything about the genius skater, and as he grew older, Yuuri lost sleep at wondering what Viktor's actions meant.

Be careful what you wish for, indeed; Yuuri was beyond terrified, watching all the confidence seep out of the living legend as he gazed at the ceiling, the floor holding the applauding audience.

 _'I have to end this. This can no longer go on.'_ The Japanese skater thought, putting his hands gently on Viktor, which were clamped tightly against his ears. "Viktor, we need to go up. It'll be my turn soon."

His eyes whipped down to look at him, and Yuuri felt smaller. The blues of Viktor's orbs shivered, full of questions and pleas; he needed,  _wanted,_ to pull Yuuri out of his stump, but there was just so much someone could do if he were left in the dark.  _'You won't be there soon.'_ The skater mused in his head, gently removing the Russian's hands from his face, and making his way back up.  _'This is good. It ends here, I'll tell him, and I'll retire. He'd never need to see me again.'_

When two sets of footsteps echoed instead of two, the skater had to stop and look at his coach. Viktor's expression had hardened to stone, eyes cold and nearly unfeeling, lips simply a thin line of peach. "Yuuri." He began, his voice an unfamiliar depth that made his student's skin crawl. "If you mess up and fail to make the podium, I'll take responsibility and resign as your coach."

**Ba-dump.**

In all intents and purposes, Yuuri should have been relieved. There it was, his way out; all he needed to do was flub the entire program- which was not so hard to do at his current state- and let Viktor leave. The silver-haired skater would go back to Russia, none the wiser, and he'd go back to Hasetsu, shamed, but with memories he'd treasure for a lifetime. Yuuri should have been happy, that despite everything, the Viktor Nikiforov had loved him, had taken care of him, had spent his time with him. Clocks ticked faster for figure skaters, after all; any moment Viktor didn't spend creating his masterpieces took from his time on the ice. Yuuri should have been able to breathe.

But he didn't. His throat constricted, as if the silvery tendrils had returned, wrapping themselves around him once more. His hips throbbed, the long-healed wound reminding him of the man he'd wronged, the hidden mark a pulsating indication that  _there was someone else._

_I love you Yuuri...?_

He broke.

"W-why would you say that, like you're testing me?!" The Japanese skater whimpered, fat tears streaming down his face.  _'It's not a test. It's a verdict! Snap out of it!'_

"Uh, I'm sorry, Yuuri, I wasn't serious-"

All he wanted was to shut up, but Yuuri could control his emotions no longer. "I've been used to being blamed for my own mistakes!"

_Not being a good owner enough to be there for Vicchan on his last days._

_Not being skilled enough for a higher spot last GPF._

_Not being smart enough to qualify for a university graduation without a pity pass._

_Not being special enough to be Viktor's real soulmate._

_Not being strong enough to accept that Viktor belonged to someone else._

Viktor reached to him and grabbed the hysterical man by the shoulders, confusion very evident on his face. Yuuri could not relent. "Now I'm worried  _sick_ , because my shortcomings, my mistakes, would reflect on someone else, on you! I'm not good enough, but they'll think the same of you as well! Now you see me _like this_ , and I'm wondering if you secretly want to quit!"

_Yuuri, stop, stop it, stop it, stopitstopitstopitstopit-_

A kind smile, albeit unsure, found itself on the Russian's lips. "Of course not; I will never leave you."

_I love you. Yuuri?_

**"I KNOW!"**

Viktor was kind;  _too_ kind, in fact, that he sometimes appeared quite gullible. Yuuri almost wanted to laugh at himself pathetically, scoffing at his previous claim of knowing his coach too well.  _Of course_ , he'd stay,  _of course_ , he won't hate Yuuri. Viktor had fallen head over heels in love, as Yuuri had with him; the hole had been dug too deep, and the feelings they had for each other already rooted themselves deep into the crevices of their hearts. There was simply no respite to be had from a rejection that wouldn't come; Viktor loved him, and if they were to end the dream, it was up to Yuuri to break his heart.

The silver-haired legend was reduced to a shell-shocked mess, muted by the explosion his student had detonated into. Viktor, at a loss for words, ran a gloved hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say." He began. "To tell you honestly, I don't know how to deal with this kind of emotional situations." Slowly, he reached out to Yuuri, but the other man took a step back, and Viktor almost mirrored how wet his student's face had become. Instead, he showed him a cracked smile, pretension be damned. "Would you like me to kiss you?"

Yuuri all but pushed him back.

"No!" He growled, voice cracking from how loud he had become. "S-Stand by me! You don't have to say anything, just believe in me more than I do that I will win!"

 _'Please don't doubt yourself. Believe that you were more than enough.'_ Yuuri begged in his brain, despite the meltdown he was already having.  _'It's just me who is weak.'_

 ***

When Yuuri took on the ice, his eyes were red but his face was dry. He wasn't deaf to the uncertainties he'd heard in hurried whispers as Viktor ushered him to the rink, but there was only one person he needed to please with his performance.

With an intentional drop of a used tissue, which Viktor had the instinct to catch, Yuuri poked his coach's hair whorl, patting it comfortingly.  _'Don't fret, it will be over soon, Viktor.'_

He let the Russian's eyes trail after him as he skated to the middle of the rink, bowing his head as he waited for the music to begin.  _'I can't let it eat me alive, not yet.'_ He thought, with his eyes closed but his mind dilated, as if trying to locate the fearfully familiar silver tendrils that wished nothing but to choke him.  _'Viktor, are you watching? Don't take your eyes off me.'_

The piano began, and Yuuri looked up, feeling warmth envelop him as his body suddenly relaxed, taken by the music. He'd forgotten the routine during warm up, but as he fluidly connected one movement to another, he realized that the entire choreography was laid out in front of him. All Yuuri needed to do was feel.

As he went for a Quad Toe Double Toe combination, Yuuri sneaked a passing glance at the familiar brown and silver blur by the rink side. As his blade connected with the ice, the exhaustion pawing at his doorstep numbed his surprise.  _'Oh, I did it.'_ Yuuri thought, never skipping a beat blankly.  _'I wonder if this is enough for Viktor.'_

His head felt light, and Yuuri could swear that he was falling into a trance, and everything seemed enveloped in some haze. The Flying Sit Spin he did went well, but it didn't help the swimming vision that was getting too nauseating. He dug his nail into his palm in an effort to stay awake, eyes widening as he realized that he was set to do a Quad Salchow in a few beats.  _'Here I go,'_

He knew he wouldn't land it well the moment he took off; enough rotations were put in, but Yuuri made it, albeit it was less than clean. From the corner of his eye, he noted the slight shiver the comforting brown and silver blur had.  _'That was much better than I anticipated,'_ Yuuri thought as he skated on, more awake due to the near miss. He looked towards the blur of his coach, noting that the shaking had stopped.  _'I've got to do better.'_

The drums and strings had gotten louder, and his heart began pounding to the three-quarter beat of the song. Despite the growing volume, Yuuri noted that the audience had gone nearly completely silent, and he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  _'No, focus; everyone out there thinks Viktor's wasting his time on you.'_ He said internally, with more drive than he thought he could muster.  _'Show them wrong. This was not a waste of time.'_

Yuuri performed his Triple Loop from a Change Foot Camel Spin with a flourish, the grace of his movements becoming more and more evident as the song progressed, building up to the climax of the music.  _'You said you came to me because you were inspired to make me into a better skater.'_ He thought, executing the choreographic sequence with little trouble.  _'I don't know what happened, how it happened, but you fell in love with me, the wrong person.'_

The Japanese skater panted, almost out of breath, feeling the stickiness of his costume as the sheer cloth stuck to his back uncomfortably.  _'Even still,'_ Yuuri thought when he caught a clearer view of his coach, hands grasping the rink wall so tightly that his knuckles must have gone sheet white, with a face all too serious, as if he were stiff from anticipation. Yuuri couldn't help but smile.  _'Even still, Viktor, thank you for loving me, even before my transgression.'_

The music faded into a solo of piano keys, to which Yuuri posed into a Lunge, taking the time to breathe. As he ran his hands down his throat, Yuuri almost expected his hands to mindlessly strangle him, to which he immediately moved to a Spread Eagle.  _'No. Focus. Hold on.'_ Yuuri chided, relief washing over him as he spread out his arms and arched his back into an Ina Bauer.  _'No more fears, Yuuri. It's time to face the truth.'_

Tears pricked his eyes as the music picked up once more, strings interweaving their melody with the continuous tapping of the piano keys. He remembered how Viktor sprung from the hot spring, offering himself and not accepting 'no' for an answer. Viktor, who'd woken him up at six in the morning for a jog, and forced him to eat nothing but cabbages until his weight dropped. Viktor, who'd held his hand through all the trials and tribulations of his comeback; pulled his weight when he could no longer move, and stood firm like stone when he needed to stop.  _'A Triple Axel,'_ He forced himself to think, launching himself into the air too strongly, ending up with a hand on the ice as he recovered.  _'Focus!'_ He berated himself, gliding with narrowed eyes as he picked up the speed for his next jump.

 _'Here it goes,'_ The Japanese skater thought, going for a Triple Flip, landing it cleanly. He did not have time to celebrate it, however, as Yuuri had to mentally prepare himself for the last few jumps. It was then and there, as he spun on the ice, that an idea popped up in his head.  _'What if... what if I change the last jump into Viktor's Quad Flip?'_

As set in stone as he was, Yuuri could no longer focus on anything else but the jump he'd never even tried outside of practice, nor even landed anywhere at all.  _'Could I possibly? Will it make you proud of me?'_ Yuuri thought as he performed a clumsy Triple Axel Single Loop Triple Salchow combination, over-rotating the last jump. The man didn't dare look at his coach, afraid of the disappointed he figured Viktor would have plastered on his face. Yuuri's mouth dropped into a frown.  _'I can't let myself make any more mistakes.'_ He growled internally, braving a Triple Lutz Triple Toe Loop combination, nailing it to his surprise.  _'Just a bit more... hold out for a bit more.'_

Try as he might, Yuuri couldn't get the Quad Flip out of his head, performing his step sequence with anarchic thinking but flawless motions. The music had gone full volume, the marriage of the strings and the piano filled with discord and understanding, much like the skater interpreting it on the ice. _'I don't know if I can do it,'_ He thought as his spins and glides went faster and stronger.  _'But I've proven that I can do_ anything  _for you, no matter how wrong.'_

Decided, Yuuri accelerated his movements, doing his best not to disrupt the beat of his dance.  _'I hope, with this, you will believe that I am capable of doing pure, wonderful things for you as well.'_ The skater blocked out the music, the audience, leaving just him, the rink and Viktor. 

 _Here's to you, Viktor.'_ Yuuri thought, sliding his foot backwards, propelling himself into a Quad Flip.

***

**THUD!**

The silver-haired man wanted to run out to his student, who'd landed on his legs and arm, after his attempt at  _Viktor's_  signature jump, but the shock of him even thinking of changing the lineup in the middle of the routine froze him in place. His head brewed dozens of ways he could berate Yuuri for trying to do a Flip at the end of routine- without sleep, Viktor liked to add- and risking an injury that could debilitate him. However, Viktor felt no need to do so, as he was busy swelling with pride and admiration over the man he'd fallen head over heels for.

A Flip. Katsuki Yuuri barely landed his favorte Triple Axel and he went for a Flip!

Viktor looked down, unable to keep his face from breaking into a silly grin.  _'How could you doubt yourself so much, and yet pull off something as extraordinary as this?!'_ He cooed to himself, forcing down the giddy laughter that was seeping out of his lips.  _'God, pull yourself together, Viktor; you're like a giggling schoolgirl with a crush.'_

Laughing at himself once more, the man sighed, preening at the accolades the commentators were giving his student, feeling nostalgic at the pure happiness he felt as the audience cheered Katsuki Yuuri on.  _'Ah, I forgot how good this felt.'_ Viktor thought, reminiscing how exhilarating it was when he had finished a program he'd tampered with to put in a personal touch.  _'I've long lost the ability to feel this happy over a program.'_ He sighed, looking up, but not at Yuuri.  _'Thank you for giving it back.'_

One look at Yuuri and Viktor was running to the rink entrance, hearing the slicing of blades on ice as his student paralleled his movements. Viktor, puzzled, decided to spy a look.  _'You're running towards me?'_ He asked internally, something warm blooming in his chest. As he stood by the entrance, Viktor basked in the glow of his protege, nearly brought to tears at the wide, genuinely jubilant smile Yuuri had on.

"I did great, right?" He called.

 _'More that you know.'_ Viktor responded in his head, his hand subtly caressing his rib. He met Yuuri's eyes, relishing the glow in them. There his student was, skating at double speed to reach him; what else could anyone have expected from Viktor other than to meet him halfway?

***

The music stopped, and Yuuri's hand reached out towards the familiar brown and silver blur on the sidelines. He couldn't see the expression on his face, but the skater straightened as his coach kept his head low.

 _'Is he crying? Is he mad?'_ Yuuri dreaded as Viktor kept his face down, even after the skater had taken his bows. "Viktor?" Yuuri whispered, knowing full well that his coach couldn't hear him from all the cheers. To his surprise, the silver-haired man straightened up and started running, and Yuuri had feared that Viktor had had enough and decided to leave him mid-contest ( _'No, Yuuri, thats absolutely preposterous; even you know he won't do that.')_ , but the worries he nursed dissipated when he noticed that the Russian was hurrying to meet him at the rink entrance.

"I did great, right?" He called out, more to convince himself that to boast to his coach, really; Viktor's poker-faced expression became more visible, making Yuuri more anxious of what he really thought.  _'Did I offend him after all...?'_

A few feet away, the Japanese skater saw a soft, reassuring smile form on his coach's lips, and soon Viktor was off the ground, the lips Yuuri had been observing getting closer and closer.  _'W-what...?!'_

Time stopped turning for a moment, Yuuri suddenly hyper-aware of the hands snaking to the back of his head and around his waist, of his blue-tinted reflection in his coach's brilliant, gem-like pools, and of the softest lips, with the slightest hint of cherry, on his.

***

Viktor leaned into the kissed, closing his eyes and bracing his arms for impact. Yuuri was all warmth, sweat and muffled, confused cries, wide-eyed surprise and shell-shocked stiffness.

_'I love you Yuuri.'_

The solid thud and biting cold of the ice, though painful, felt like meeting a long-lost friend (Viktor could _not_ remember the last time he collapsed on the rink). His knuckles screamed in pain, his arms smarting from being squished by their combined weights, and Viktor  _loved every second of it._

The squeals of surprise ended and all the Russian could hear was silence. Slowly, he pushed himself up, finding himself staring into Yuuri's still shocked eyes. Viktor laughed, gazing lovingly at the man beneath him. "This was the only think I could think of to surprise you more than you've surprised me."

The fond look Yuuri gave him made up for all the bruises he'd got on his arms. "Really?" The younger man began, and Viktor's grin widened. "Well, it worked."

***

As they walked together to their hotel room, Silver in hand, Yuuri let Viktor skip a few steps ahead, blabbering happily about how proud he was of his student. He smiled to himself, watching the silver strands dance as the Russian living legend all but jumped to their door. "Yuuri! What are you doing there? Faster! I'm sure you're exhausted." Viktor called, waving to him enthusiastically.

"Right, I'm just tired." He responded, making no change of pace.

Viktor looked happier again, Yuuri thought fondly, admiring the child-like twinkles in his eyes, and the heart-shaped smile that was brighter than the sun. The skater absently touched his right hip, feeling for the plaster he'd placed on it. Oddly enough, the silvery tendrils that plagued him never came, a nightmare that seemed to have finally ended.

Yuuri smiled, feeling a bittersweet plume of acceptance swell within him. He'd wanted to tell Viktor, show him the flaking gold Polaris, but...

His smile was too pure, eyes too bright that they seemed to hold all the stars in the sky. He was overjoyed, contented, so very much in love, and Yuuri? Well, Yuuri did not find the strength to crush him where he stood.

So he let Viktor pull him close, behind locked doors, returning the embrace as the Russian's arms encircled his much smaller frame. Their foreheads pressed against each other, no words spoken between them as the taller man started swaying them in a poor excuse of a waltz, carding his hand through the hair on the back of Yuuri's head. Their eyes stayed half-lidded, the cool, dark blues lulling Yuuri to a much needed slumber, the swaying of their bodies the beat of his lullaby. As Viktor pressed their mouths together, Yuuri had thrown all his fears and worries over his back, to a confession timer he'd solidly set.

After the Short Program of the Barcelona GPF, he'd tell him, Yuuri decided. He'd continue to make him proud, reach the top, let Viktor see the fruits of his labor, and then he'll confess.

Not then, in their Shanghai hotel bedroom, where they pushed the beds just close enough so that they could hold hands as they fell asleep. Not there, where Viktor looked and Yuuri gazed back, one so very ready to jump into forever and the other steeling himself for the inevitable end. Not there, where Viktor said it again, as he'd done so for a thousand times.

"I love you, Yuuri."

Not there, where Yuuri finally had the strength to tell him that one truth he'd been dying to hear.

"I love you too, Viktor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to watch Episode 7 again for the FS XD
> 
> This was a difficult chapter to write, since it was the only one I overlooked planning ahead for. >.> Will be checking for typos soon, writing on a phone is hard.
> 
> Here are my references  
> http://yurionice.wikia.com/wiki/Yuuri_Katsuki  
> http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/yurionice/images/6/6e/Yuri_on_ice_free_skate_ep4.PNG/revision/latest?cb=20170115034431  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ISU_Judging_System


	16. On Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beauty of love stories is that each and every one is told exquisitely different from the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a soft transition of sorts, and it's much longer than normal.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**To: Yuuri**

_Hi Yuuri!_

_We didn't get to talk much during the Cup of China. It felt like we both went out of our ways to make sure we didn't have time alone._

_I'm sorry._

_I'm at a banquet back in Bangkok right now; I wanted to invite you, but I figured you had more important things to do._

_Let's meet at the Grand Prix Final, all right? I'm still your bestest best friend, and I'll stick with you no matter what._

_And I'll still take Gold._

_Ha ha._

_I miss you Yuuri._

**_Message sending..._ **

**_..._ **

**_..._ **

**_...Message sent._ **

"Phichit, you've been looking at your phone since we got here; come off it already, a lot of people are dying to meet you."

Looking up, the Gold medalist Thai skater offered his coach an apologetic smile, pocketing his smartphone and dusting his suit. "Sorry Ciao Ciao, you know I need to address my loyal followers somehow!" He sang, hopping to his feet and bolting to the buffet area. Celestino sighed, allowing a smile to grace his lips. Phichit jumped into easy conversations with anyone who'd approach him, all sincere smiles and playful banter; despite all his reservations, the Italian coach could not help but compare his current student to Katsuki Yuuri.

_"W-we don't have to hold a banquet, you know!" Yuuri sputtered, embarrassment painting his face as Celestino brought him news that the partner college of Kino University in Detroit had offered to hold a celebration for Yuuri's qualification for the Final. 'Offered' was really just for formality, however; the dean of student affairs had just come up to Celestino one day, handing him a gold-embossed card, and inviting him to a posh gathering to be held at the school gymnasium, all in Yuuri's honor._

_In the end, the Japanese skater was coaxed into coming, wearing a rental suit and a halfhearted smile. Despite all the commendations he received, the man mostly kept to himself, saying his thanks when appropriate, laughing when needed. Halfway through the party, Celestino regretfully determined that gatherings such as those did nothing for his student; if anything, it only made his nerves worse._

_"Mi dispiace, Yuuri." The coach said as he drove his student to the shared dormitory he had with a fellow skater. Yuuri had immediately waved his apology off._

_"No, no! It was all in good intention, Coach." He said, looking at his hands shyly. "I just wish I Phichit didn't have exams tonight; it would have been much easier if he were there."_

_Celestino only nodded, speaking no more as he eyed the road._

Watching how his current student flew from one person to another, Celestino begrudgingly accepted that he had approached Yuuri with the wrong coaching theory. In trying to break his shell by spontaneously exposing him to things outside his comfort zone, he did more harm than good to the poor skater. Yuuri was  _nothing_ like Phichit, who'd jived immediately with how Celestino worked; Phichit thrived in attention, an innocent(Celestino scoffed at calling Phichit this) ball of sunshine whose goal was to infect others with any sort of joy he felt. Yuuri, however, was contented to stay in the shadows, practicing best when he was alone on the rink, in dim lighting. He spoke only when spoken to, answered only when asked.

How the two became such good friends slipped from under his nose completely: the stories Phichit had about Yuuri were downright absurd( _'The boy took pole dancing lessons on the side? Don't take me for a fool.'_ ), painting a completely different picture of the demure Japanese man. Even after Yuuri had cut ties with him, and he'd taken Phichit under his tutelage, the stories didn't stop, and he had wondered out loud if the Thai skater was simply dragging out an inside joke he and the Japanese skater had. The younger man simply laughed.

_"Oh, Ciao Ciao! Yuuri is more than a four-eyed nerd with his face glued to his feet."_

He thought he'd have to see it to believe it; so when Viktor Nikiforov suddenly left his throne and swooped in to take Yuuri under his wing, Phichit's outrageous stories began to make much, much more sense.

The first time he saw the Japanese skater perform his Short Program, On Love: Eros, it was on a YouTube video from the Regionals in Japan. It almost felt scandalous in a way, and Celestino had to hold his hand over his mouth to stop his jaw from dropping, as if he was witnessing something too sensual for the public eye.  _'What has Viktor Nikiforov been doing to you?!'_ Celestino all but cried in his head, waving off all the less-than-pure thoughts his mind was supplying. To him, Yuuri had been the innocent, virginal boy, all wide eyes and small smiles; the Yuuri in the black, skin-tight, nearly sheer suit was an incubus, preying on the unsuspecting audience. 'Maria Vergine, _Yuuri!'_

He feared checking out Yuuri's Free Skate, but the title of the song had been innocuous enough. What he saw made Celestino remember what he saw in Katsuki Yuuri that made him take the man as his student in the first place.

The Japanese man's program was anything and everything that made him stand out as a skater: a beautiful mix of elegant elements, ample opportunity to express himself artistically, and second-half jumps that utilized his stamina. What called out to him the most was when the music died out in the middle, leaving nothing but shy and hesitant piano chords, Celestino knew he'd heard the music before. It had gotten much stronger, fuller,  _more Yuuri_ than anything else, but it was definitely the same modest piece his ex-student brought to him the year prior.

"Ciao Ciao! Come on, we need to take a picture by the banner!" Phichit suddenly called, and the Asian skater was by his side, already dragging him to the colorful tarp congratulating the first Thai, the first Southeast Asian, who'd made it to the Grand Prix Final. Out of his suit pocket, the Thai was able to pull out a green-handled selfie stick, expertly placed his smartphone on it, and had snapped a photo of them, coach and student, before Celestino could wrap his head around what happened. "Aw, you weren't ready!" Phichit cried, but the coach simply laughed.

"If you at least counted to three, I would have been!"

"One more time, then!"

**CLICK!**

"Much better!" Phichit exclaimed, angling his selfie stick better, getting a more elegant shot.

"You enjoy the rest of the night, okay, Phichit?" Celestino found himself saying, immediately wondering if the other man would laugh him off. To his credit, Phichit started howling with laughter, before enveloping the older man in a hug.

"Definitely!" He beamed, letting his grin fall into a much smaller smile. A little sadly, he added, "I just wish Yuuri had time to come to Bangkok and celebrate with me; it would have been much more fun if he were here."

As he watched his student run off to some friends he'd invited to the banquet, Celestino fell to a thoughtful silence.

There were so many things that set Yuuri and Phichit apart, he knew that very well.

What he realized was how the two weren't much different, either.

_StorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorgeStorge_

**anya**

_**[PreNup.jpeg]** _

Gunning for the GPF, but everybody can make time for a once in a lifetime photo-op!

_#weddingdress #threepiecesuit #wifetobe #husbandtobe #icedancersinlove #nofilter_

**♥️** 4,333 like this.                                                                                                         

"Georgi, it's been  _hours_ ; get off the rink already before you hurt yourself." Mila chided, arms crossed in front of her as she glared daggers at her rink mate. Georgi shot her a dirty look, picking up speed and launching into a Quad Salchow.

**THUD!**

"GEORGI!" Mila screamed, speedily removed his blade guards and all but flew to her friend, who laid on the ice as a crumpled mess. As she pulled him up to sit, Mila let out a string of curses, noting a bad bruise forming on the man's cheek. It definitely looked worse than it really was, but the redhead couldn't help but nag at him. "Now look what happened! Your face is a mess and Yakov will kill you, you stupid oaf!"

"Go home already, Mila!" Georgi spat, pushing her away as gently as he could. The woman, however, would not be swayed, grasping her friend by the collar of his shirt and pulling him to face her.

"No." She growled, a fire in her deep blue eyes. "What end do you plan on reaching by skating yourself to an early retirement?!"

The man scoffed. "I'm twenty-five, Mila, this  _is_ the retire-able age." He deadpanned. Mila would have nothing of it.

"You can go for longer! Hell, Viktor's gone for longer! Take care of yourself, Georgi; you're not going out like a burnt candle in the middle of this run."

The man laughed bitterly at her. "Why do you people talk to me as if you know what I'm going through?" Georgi stood up, skating away as if he didn't just have a bad fall. When he was a few glides away, the man faced his companion. "I'm not like you; not like Yuri, definitely nothing like Viktor. I don't know if you've noticed, but I needed to work twice,  _thrice_ as hard to qualify for this competition." He paused, gazing at the empty rink. "And yet, it's Yuri who'd caught Madame Lilia's eye, who's gotten a fighting chance to qualify for the Final; Yuri, who'd complained and complained, skipped training as much as he could, and ran after Viktor to play competition in Japan." He turned to Mila, eyes suddenly morose. "And you, Mila, you laugh and practice moves that aren't required for singles, date around like nobody's business, but you're also going to the Final."

"Georgi, wait-"

"I'm not finished." He spoke suddenly, voice too soft for her to take any offense. "Did you know that I started on this rink earlier than Viktor did?"

She shook her head.

"My parents took me nearly everyday, cheering me on, never relenting on their support, because they knew this was my dream." Georgi slid across the ice, gazing at an old, invisible couple by the benches. "So I worked harder and harder, until I felt that I was good enough. Then Viktor, with his girly hair and girly face, entered the room, pushing an old lady on a wheelchair twice as bulky as himself, smiling at everything that had a face. I couldn't forget him, or her, as I thought at that time."

_"That poor dear over there," Georgi's mother commented, pointing to the silver-haired child struggling to push who seemed to be her (his?) grandmother to the rink side. When the wheelchair was pushed to a comfortable place and a water bottle was handed to the woman on it, the child disappeared into the locker area, returning moments later wearing what looked like custom-made blue and white ice skates._

_Georgi stopped watching and began to practice his Single Jumps, slowly easing into Doubles, though he had yet to have the hang of them._

_Then the silver-haired kid started to come more often. Once a week became twice, thrice, until he was there all seven days. The child had stopped wearing dull colors and began flashing pinks and oranges, definitely clashing with the long silver hair, and only then did Georgi notice that his eccentric (and pretty) rink mate was not just another kid on the ice._

_At first, it was only his parents who noticed._

_"Oh my, that little lone darling with the pretty hair just did a Triple Toe Loop!" His father exclaimed, catching the attention of both his mother and Georgi. True enough, the child- barely even eleven, they wagered- was practicing Spins and Jumps, the old woman on the wheelchair silently clapping as she heard her grandchild's cheers. Curious, Georgi approach the silver-haired beauty, earning a blush-inducing smile._

_"Hey, you skate good. Where did you learn that?" Georgi asked. The other child smiled once more._

_"I practice a lot with Coach Yakov; Bab'ka likes to watch me skate."_

'Coach Yakov?  _The_ Coach Yakov?' _Georgi thought, feeling a slight tinge of jealousy within him. Quelling his envy, the dark-haired boy held out his hand for a shake. "That means you_ are _good. My name's Georgi. What's yours?"_

_The other kid shook his hand enthusiastically, Georgi trying to stop a blush from forming; the silver-haired child had very smooth, very cute hands, after all. "Nice to meet you, Georgi! My name's Viktor!"_

_"Oh."_

_For the rest of the day, the two skated circles around each other, Viktor teaching Georgi how to land a Triple Toe Loop, which he_ almost _did, except his hand touched the ice._

_Where they were going home, Georgi was cooed all over by his parents and an aunt who'd been visiting. Looking back at his new friend, the boy noticed that the other had simply tried to push his grandmother out of the rink, a small figure that exuded enough brightness to outshine a star._

_"You and that darling child were adorable, Gosha!"_

_"Gosha's got himself a little girlfriend!"_

_Georgi sputtered at his father's teasing. "S-stop it, Dad! And Viktor's a boy."_

_"Boyfriend, then!"_

_"Daaaad!"_

"I had all the support, but in the end, he was able to overshadow me in less than a month." Georgi recounted, bitterness welling inside him. He didn't need to look at Mila; he knew exactly what expression she had on her face. "The hardest part about it was he tried, 'for friendship's sake', to pull me up with him." The man paused, clenching his fists. "I couldn't refuse him, but at the same time, I couldn't keep up."

The man skated to the rink exit, tailed by the redhead. "There are some people who get to have the whole world, and there are some who don't." He continued, putting on the blade guards, Mila mirroring him. "Don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean I'm giving up."

The woman's eyes widened, a smile threatening to break.

"At this point, I've lost a lot of things, things that are very important to me. Since I'm out of the competition, Coach's let me take a few days off, and I plan to use this little vacation to think about what I want to do from now on, what I want to have." The male continued, moving to the locker room to deposit his skates.

"Georgi, wait!" Mila called, hastening her ministrations to remove her skates. The man looked at her, and for once, offered a small smile.

"I'll just be in the locker room. I'll wait for you outside, and we can grab a coffee or something, sound good?"

The redhead's rosy lips formed a wide smile as she nodded.

"Sounds great!"

_PhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautiaPhilautia_

**Christophe Giacometti, wins first gold for the Grand Prix Final '16 - '17 series at Trophée de France**

                            PARIS, FRANCE - Swiss Men's Figure Skater Christophe Giacometti landed a spot in the Final event after

                   winning gold at Trophée de France tonight, September 3, 2016, scoring a total of 289.56 points, 96.43 from

                   the Short Program, and 193.13 from the Free Skate. Giacometti,  25, is no stranger to the Grand Prix Final, a

                   constant  presence  to  the  event  and  a  long-time rival to the living legend of Men's Figure Skating,  Viktor

                   Nikiforov... _see more_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stéphane popped open a bottle of champagne as Chris helped himself to the crème brûlée on the table, the pair having just finished the main course of their sumptuous meal. After Chris had won Gold and qualified for the Grand Prix Final, the reporter had immediately made plans with him, reserving for four at a posh, four-star restaurant. Initially, Josef was with them, but after an hour and a certain brunette had failed to show, the elderly coach got fed up, informed the two that he'll 'drag Lysandre Desrosiers out from whatever grave he was hiding in' and sped off in his car rental sedan.

As he pour them both a glass, Stéphane huffed exasperatedly. "Sandre could be such a child." He commented, dropping a cherry in Chris' champagne. The Swiss waved him off, giving the reporter an easy smile as he admired the drink in his hand.

"Oh, let him be; it's not easy to face an ex, after all."

Downing his glass, the brunette sighed, taking out his phone, ringing Lysandre up. "I swear to God, this man disappears at the  _worst_ of times." He growled, reaching for a spoon to sample his own dessert with. As the caramelized top broke apart, the call cut, the automated response informing Stéphane that Lysandre was either busy or out of reach. Chris laughed, rolling the cherry at the bottom of his glass.

"Leave him be, Coach would give him an earful anyway." He drawled, downing his own glass and pouring himself another. With a devious smile, the skater took out his phone and started a video call with Viktor. "I have no idea what time it is in Japan, but now would be a good time to meddle with the coach of my rival."

"Chris, please," Stéphane laughed, taking a seat beside the other to see if their overseas friend would pick up.

One ring, two rings...  **CLICK!**

_"Chris! Stéphane! What a pleasant surprise! Congratulations on you Gold, by the way."_

The two laughed as Viktor's video loaded, showing the Russian in his plain gray sweater hoodie, a fisherman in the background. "Oh my, Viktor; are you part-timing as a fish vendor now?" The reporter guffawed, earning another wave of laughter from Chris. Viktor, confused, turned around, just in time to see the fisherman behind him reel in a catch. The two at the restaurant continued to giggle as genuine surprise marked their friend's face.

_"Oh wow! That's the first time I've ever seen someone catch a fish at these parts; usually I just see them reel catches in when we're on the boat."_

This prompted more laughter. "Oh my God, Coach Viktor!" Chris wheezed, holding his stomach. "What on earth are you doing there? Have you finally traded your golden blades for a golden rod?!"

_"Ah, you got me; I'm secretly on a quest to find the golden tuna. When I catch it, I no longer need to skate to feed myself to the end of my days."_

Stéphane and Chris were nearly thrown out of the establishment due to their thunderous laughter, shared by the Russian on the other end of the phone. With a promise to keep it down and to behave, the two placed the phone in front of them, using the half-empty bottle of champagne as the stand. "Sorry it's just the two of us now; Sandre is being difficult, but Josef had gone to collect him." The reporter told him, brandishing a spoonful of dessert in front of the Russian. Viktor's face fell for a moment, before regaining his default charm.

_"I heard that his sportswear business is flourishing; less time does come with progress, I suppose."_

Chris rolled his eyes. "I think you of all people know that very well."

_"Touché."_

The banter went on, the trio talking mostly about their planned vacation in Barcelona, teasing Stéphane about a rumored lover("Cut it out, Chris; it was just  _one_ kiss! On the cheek!"), and Chris' plan to take the next season off.

 _"Oh really?"_ Viktor mouthed, shocked at his friend's declaration.

"Why not? I might find a cute, drunk Asian of my own at this year's banquet."

Viktor, at the very least, had the decency to blush.  _"Ah, but I think you won't find anyone more adorable than my Yuuri."_

Chris' and Stéphane's lips quirked upward. "'My Yuuri', you say?" The reporter mirrored, worsening the blush on the Russian's face. Chris did his best to suppress his giggles, ultimately hurting his throat from the effort, as Viktor turned left and right frantically. "Don't be shy,  _Vitya_ , it's perfectly acceptable, even for gods such as yourself, to have a crush."

The Swiss could not help but pipe in. "Careful, Viktor; I  _might_ just swoop in and take little Yuuri from under your nose."

The Russian simply laughed, tears in his eyes.  _"You're welcome to try, Chris; I'll have the tissues ready for when you're done."_

"Good; I bet you'll need them."

Stéphane let out a small whistle, fanning his hand against his face. "It's getting quite heated in here." He quipped, earning a smack from Chris. "You and your dirty mind, Christophe Giacometti!"

_"The dirtiest, indeed."_

"Might I remind you, Viktor, on who had that  _tasteful_ collection of erotica under their bed last Olympics."

_"There is no shame in admiring the human body, Chris."_

"Yes, even if it includes  _questionable_ usage of  _certain_ high-end clothing accessories."

**_"Viktor! I finally found you! And are you learning French on your phone?"_ **

"I'd know that voice anywhere," Chris mused, turning to Stéphane with a knowing look. "We'll leave you with your student for now. Until next time, Viktor!"

_"Merci, Chris, Stéphane; À la prochaine."_

**_"Wait, you're actually speaking French?!"_ **

**CLICK!**

"Rude, didn't even let us talk to Yuuri." Chris pouted, earning a laugh from Stéphane.

"It's not like Viktor to get territorial, so maybe this is a good thing." The reporter said, removing Chris' phone from the bottle of champagne, pouring himself another cup. As he was tipping the flute on his lips, he noticed a familiar pair of men walking towards them. With a smile, the brunette waved his hand, earning a nod from Josef, but none from Lysandre. Stéphane shrugged his shoulders, drinking half of his glass.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Lysandre." Chris drawled, eyes trailed on the man as he sat down across him, since Josef had purposely taken the chair across Stéphane. The taller brunette barely acknowledged him, looking too downtrodden to be attending a celebration. Sighing, the Swiss had finally had enough. "Look, this is getting us nowhere, and I think it's for the best that we talk. Let's settle this between us, all right?"

Lysandre sighed, finally looking Chris in the eye. "I understand."

_PhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhiliaPhilia_

**Yuri Angels √** @Yuri_angels  Nov 2

Rooting for  **@yuri-plisetsky** for the Rostelecom Cup! Go Go Go Yuratchka!!!

**_[CuteYuriPlisetskyCat.jpeg]_ **

**replies** 430   **retweet** 3,002   **like**  12,233                                                        

"Yuratchka, it's good you were able to make time for me today!" Nikolai Plisetsky told his grandson, who was currently fixing the web cam on his laptop. "You didn't have to get me this gadget, though; you know that I'm very bad with technology!"

 _"It's so I can see you more often, Ded'ka!"_ Yuri grinned through the gritty video, blonde hair shining under the ballet room lights.

"How's training going for you? Are you making time for your schooling?"

Yuri blew his hair out his face.  _"I attend physically when there's time, but classes are such a bore and the girls are all crazy!"_ The boy waved his hands over his head for emphasis.  _"Training... well, I guess this is the most trained I've ever been, to be honest."_

Nikolai frowned. "Madame Lilia isn't working you to the bone, is she?" He asked, worried that his grandson was not getting enough rest. "I'm not sure how accurate this screen is, but you look like skin and bones to me."

Yuri laughed, scratching the back of his neck.  _"It's not that I don't eat, I just don't get fat."_ He waved off.  _"Yakov and Lilia are feeding me well, but nothing beats your cooking."_

"That's for sure!" The old man quipped, and the two shared a laugh. Gazing at his grandson fondly, Nikolai couldn't help but wipe a tear from his eye. "You're growing beautifully, my grandson."

Yuri blushed.  _"H-Hey! I'm a man, you know? After all this puberty stuff, I swear I'm going to grow a beard to match yours."_

"I highly doubt that."

_"Dedushkaaa."_

Nikolai waved off his grandson, grabbing his mug of steaming coffee for a sip. "You know, your mother and father dropped by the other week." He said, unsure of how to word it. Yuri's eyes widened, brilliant greens sparkling.

_"Together?"_

_'I **should**_ _have worded it better.'_ Nikolai scolded himself internally. "Err, no; Alan was here Monday, and Natashka, Saturday. I went out with them on both occasions, and they took me to two beautiful cafes here in Moscow."

 _"Ah. Really."_ Yuri pouted, looking away.  _"Did they at least give you money?"_

The old man scowled. "Your mother did; Alan's wood crafting shop isn't doing too well, but he was able to pay for my meal that day, so I am thankful." He paused. "Natashka went to Canada to watch your performance. Did you meet up with her?"

_"I didn't even know she was there."_

A pregnant pause enveloped them both. "Ah, this old man spoke too much, too stupidly once more."

The boy's features softened, offering his grandfather a shy shake of his head.  _"No, I know you just want us to be on better terms."_ Yuri forced a smile, something even he knew his grandfather could see through.  _"If it helps, I'm not actively avoiding them. They can visit me anytime they want."_ The boy paused.  _"Or maybe after the GPF. I'm a bit busy right now and I don't think I have time for a talk of that sort."_

The man offered a smile, but let the topic slide. "So, I heard from Coach Yakov that you've gone to Japan several months back. What on earth did you do there?" Nikolai inquired, internally cheering himself for recalling a question he'd forgotten to ask the last few times Yuri and he were able to have a video call.

 _"I had to follow Viktor because the forgetful id- guy didn't remember to choreograph my programs as he promised!"_ Yuri huffed, cheeks pink from annoyance.

The old man knew Viktor Nikiforov well(who didn't?); his daughter, Natasha, had been sort of a fan of the skater while she was in university, cooing at how cute, at that time, the little silver-haired boy looked.  _'Just like a snow fairy.'_ He recalled her say. Viktor had just broken into the skating world at that time, too young to qualify for Juniors but skilled enough to be part of several local ice shows. Before they'd known she was already carrying Alan's child, Nikolai had gone with her to one ice show in St. Petersburg, to which she endlessly squealed at how adorable the kid was.  _'Papa, look at little Vitka! When I become a mother, I hope my baby would be as cute and talented as him!'_

Nikolai laughed bitterly to himself.  _'Here you have little, beautiful Yuratchka, exactly like Viktor Nikiforov, but where did you decide to be?'_   He looked at his fuming grandchild, obviously not meaning any malice he tried to project. "You've been such a fan."

 _"Am not!!!"_ The child vehemently denied, pale face all red.  _"He just owed me, that's what!"_

The old man just smiled. "I'm glad he was able to give you a good Short Program in the end. Your performance of On Love: Agape is beautiful."

The seemed to have quieted him down.  _"Yeah, I guess you're right."_ He paused, playing with his braid.  _"He didn't make it for me, initially, but even I know it's no leftover."_

 "Well, you've made it yours, and that's what makes you a wonderful skater."

The boy smiled.  _"Thanks, Ded'ka. Hey, I have to get back to practice, Lilia will be back soon. See you in a few weeks?"_

"I'll pick you up at the airport."

The last thing Nikolai saw was a carbon copy smile of his daughter before the call ended.

_AgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgapeAgape_

**Isabella Yang** with Jean-Jaques Leroy

October 14, 2016

**Got Engaged to Jean-Jaques Leroy**

October 13, 2016

                                         See Relationship

                                        _See 500+ photos_

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**\-------------------------------------------------------**

**Jean-Jaques Leroy** added 2 new photos \- with Isabella Yang

October 13, 2016

A King, without his Queen, is only a lonely man on top of the world.

#SheSaidYes

**_[Ring.jpeg] [QueenIzzy.jpeg]_ **

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 ** **√** ♥️ **Jean-Jaques Leroy, Isabella Yang and 4,324 others

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When Isabella Yang arrived at her boyfriend's house, she just had worn a loose, fluffy white sweater and a pair of sleek, black leggings, completed by her brown leather boots and handbag. This was usually how she dressed, her signature fashion, how everybody would have seen her on the streets. It was just a dinner, after all, another meal on the list of meals she'd have with the Leroys. She smiled, checking her reflection on the rear view mirror of her car, reapplying her lipstick, and exiting the vehicle. On the porch was JJ, already waiting for her with a big smile on his face.

As he encased Isabella in his arms, JJ pressed a kiss to the side of her head, and after pulling her hand up, another near her elbow. The woman giggled, returning the favor on the man's bicep, just below his shoulder. "Let's go, Mom and Dad are waiting for us." JJ motioned, taking her by the hand and opening the door to a very familiar home.

Only said home was  _pitch black._

 _'Hold it, I was sure there were lights when I got here.'_ Isabella thought, grasping JJ's hand harder. "Um, a power outage?"

Despite the darkness, her boyfriend's smile still shone brightly. "Nope. Even better."

She laughed at him, already used to his antics. "Fine, just make sure I don't hit anything when I close the door."

"Not a single furniture."

Isabella nodded, encasing them both in darkness with an audible  _click_. Surprisingly, the lights  _still_ didn't open, and it would be a lie if she wasn't a tad bit worried. True to his word, however, JJ held her close, as if they were joined at the hip, and despite her awkward steps, they were able to make it to what she assumed was the living room without incident. The entire home, as big as it was, felt as if it housed not a single soul with how quiet it had been. Usually, when she visited, JJ's younger siblings would immediately be on her, babbling excitedly and asking her about her studies. Being a Fashion Major with a bit more luck and influence made all the difference after all; more places to go, opportunities to design, stories to tell. 

"Okay, now I'm really curious. You're not collaborating with that silly Sunday morning gag show, are you?" Isabella joked, secretly hoping that JJ did  _not_ sign any contract to do such a thing. She enjoyed watching the people on television get played, but it was very different if it were to happen to her.

"Nah, of course not!" The man responded with a booming laugh. Isabella wished that there were lights, so JJ could see her roll her eyes. Suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as if there was someone or  _something_ watching her. There was a light skittering on the carpeted floor, as if someone dragging shoes across it, coupled with occasional bumps to the armchairs. The Korean gulped, frantically shifting her eyes from side to side, despite not being able to see anything at all.

 _'This house is new, for Pete's sake,'_ She berated herself, gulping as she felt the air thicken, as if she were breathing it with a dozen more people. Her throat grew dry and the rest of her body froze, especially when JJ let go of her hand. "JJ?! This isn't funny!" She squealed, waving her arm in front of her, as if to grab her boyfriend's shirt (and hopefully smack him in the face too). When she felt nothing, Isabella retracted her arm to her chest, continuing to look around in vain. "Quit it, JJ! Is this about that game of League I floored you in?"

Huffs erupted from behind her, a little too close for comfort, and no one could blame the woman for the small yelp she let out. "This.Is.Not.Funny!" She growled, despite the obvious shiver in her voice. Silence enveloped her once more, broken by the abrupt and eerie marching of heavy feet. Wide-eyed and panicked, Isabella made to run for the door, when two large, calloused hands grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her violently to a questionably soft, fluffy armchair. Even to her surprise, the Korean woman was so terrified that all she could let out was a pathetic whimper. Something round and metallic was put on top of her head, and a soft, but heavy cloth was draped over her shoulders. Before Isabella could yell again, the lights turned on all at once, and she hissed as she shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness.

When she finally opened her eyes, a queen looked back at her.

"W-what...?" She mumbled, squinting her eyes, finding that the queen had done the same. Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise.

There was a wide, full body mirror in front of her. On top of her head was a sparkling, gold tiara with several pink and violet gems on it, and around her was a beautiful red velvet cloak, tipped with the softest white fur. The armchair she was sitting on was made to look like a sort of throne, draped over with a quilt with gold-woven embellishments, with elegant fairy lights snaking around the top.

As she looked to her side, she was met by a candid shot taken just as she had turned. The man behind the camera was Alain, JJ's father, his wife Nathalie by his side. Too shocked to react, Isabella simply turned her head, noting a dozen people in the room with her: some she'd recognized right away as her college friends (she made a mental note to get back at them for this), JJ's relatives, and her own parents. " _Appa, Eomma_??"

The Asian-Canadian couple smiled at her. " _Annyeong, Sang-eun."_

"What is going on here...?" The baffled woman muttered under her breath, her mind grasping for leads, until JJ reappeared, smug grin and all. "You better have a good explanation for this, Mister." She groaned, noting how JJ's smile widened even more. Isabella couldn't help but mirror his lips, trying her best not to think of a way to get back at him at Halloween.

Before she could process it, everyone had gotten down on one knee, resting one arm on the other, with their heads dramatically bowed. "Guys?!"

They paid her no mind and JJ walked up to her, dropping down on one knee as well. Through gritted teeth, the Korean hissed, "What the hell is going on?"

She was silenced with a wink and a box.

He hands flew to her mouth right away, eyes watering from the mix of emotions she'd just experienced. As the box's lid flew open, an elegant, white gold ring greeted her, a blue diamond sparkling under the light. JJ's smile shrank to something more intimate, more loving, a smile she'd only seen when it was just the two of them.

"Be my queen, my Isabella, my Sang-eun Yang?"

She'd shed all the ridiculous accessories in a heartbeat, pulled JJ up to stand, taking the man into her arms. "You're such a fool!" She cooed affectionately, happy tears sparkling in her eyes. JJ simply laughed softly into her ear.

"I am but a fool without you."

Isabella heard shuffling around her and all of a sudden, the familiar pop of a newly opened bottle of wine caught her attention. The people around her were oddly silent about it though, pour each and everyone a glass. All eyes were on them, as if waiting on JJ's words.

The man held out his hands, holding Isabella's in one and the ring in the other. "What do you say?" He asked, voice so silent she wouldn't have thought it came from him. "Let's get married after I win Gold at World's?"

 _'Anytime you want.'_ The woman thought as she let her boyfriend, no,  _fiancé_ , slide the ring onto her finger. Cheers erupted from the background, and she was in JJ's arms once more. Looking into his eyes, Isabella poked his nose. "You couldn't have made your proposal a flashier event?"

The Canadian just brandished his million-dollar grin. "I'll outdo myself each year, if I have to."

_LudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudusLudus_

Viktor sighed as he put down his phone, eyes tired from browsing his social networking sites too much.  _'So many things going on with the others,_ _'_ He thought fondly, running his hand on top of Makkachin's head fur. He sighed, pouting playfully at his dog. "We could have celebrated, but Yuuri hates parties for some reason."

The poodle whined, licking his master's hand. "I'm taking him out tomorrow still, though. My Japanese has gotten good enough, so I was able to reserve a restaurant in the city!" The Russian gloated, even if only to his pet. Viktor's gaze softened. "Yuuri deserves so much more than what he takes." He whispered, absently scratching Makkachin's stomach. "I hope he someday sees the wonderful person in himself, and stop defining Katsuki Yuuri by the mistakes he'd made."

The dog yipped, which Viktor hoped was in agreement, earning a chuckle from the man. "You should have been able to talk; I bet you can drill some sense into him." He whispered, ultimately lying down with his head resting on the poodle. Comfortable, the Russian sighed again. "Ah, my Yuuri." Images of the Japanese skater flitted through his mind, like a photo album, and Viktor couldn't help it if he laughed from time to time. Honestly, he looked a bit insane, laughing into his pet's fur, but no one was there, and he was allowed to be crazy behind lock doors. "We've come a long way, Makkachin. See? Sometimes, your foolish master's equally foolish actions can open our lives to more wonderful chapters."

The rumbling of Makkachin's tummy relaxed Viktor more, and the man started to doze off. "I wish he'd sleep beside me already, though. It's not like we've never shared a room before." He mumbled, feeling too warm and contented to move. "Ah, I'm so lucky."

 _'And who says otherwise is a fool.'_ His mind supplied, his mouth too tired to move.  _'I'm so lucky that I was able to fall in love before I knew you were my match.'_ Unhindered thoughts filled his sleep-addled brain, spinning situations and reactions he'd dare not think if he were fully awake.  _'If we weren't a match, Yuuri... I'm glad we are, because if we weren't, I would have been a very bad person...'_

Viktor had dozed off, unable to continue his words into his dreams.

_If we weren't a match, I would have... I would have... I would have..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assumed Isabella Yang is Korean? idk I also gave her a Korean name, but you won't see it again after this XD
> 
> I wanted to incorporate the eight types of love according to the Greek in this chapter, but I didn't want to include Mania (because I don't think there was ever any sort of Mania shown in the show), and Eros.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading!


	17. Warmth in the Heart of Moscow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort is found in a friend, in a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of canon to go on xD It's still a good bit in, but I can totally see the denouement not being too far away.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

It was snowing when they arrived in Sheremetyevo Airport, but the congestion of people was enough to keep Yuuri warm. "We must have come at a busy time." Viktor commented as they collected their luggage from the conveyor. Slightly jet-lagged and mostly sleepy, Yuuri just nodded, letting out a yawn. His coach smiled fondly at him, leading them both to the exit.

"This is where Yurio comes from, right?" The Japanese skater asked as they got on the official shuttle assigned to take him and Viktor to their hotel for the Rostelecom Cup. "It looks a bit different from Sochi."

"Ah, that's because this is the cosmopolitan area; Sochi's more of a vacation resort, while Moscow's where business thrives." The silver-haired man supplied, taking his phone and turning off the airplane mode. "I guess you can somewhat say that Sochi is to Hasetsu as Moscow is to Tokyo, or something like that."

Yuuri nodded, distracted by the tall buildings and billboards they were passing, especially since they've been caught up at a red light. Looking around, the skater's eyes widened, noting a particularly large billboard with a certain silver-haired skater on it. The Viktor on the picture was topless with his back turned- sharing a copious amount of firm muscles-, one arm draping a white dress shirt over his shoulder, the other firmly placed on his hip, showing the slightest hint of a collarbone. He was looking over his shoulder with a seductive gaze and titillating smirk, with a detached, almost otherworldly presence that Yuuri hadn't been seeing for the past several months. The Cyrillic characters made no sense to Yuuri and he had no idea what his coach was advertising, but whatever it was, _he was buying._  The poor Japanese skater had to swallow a lump in his throat, thoroughly floored by the embodiment of Eros on the large poster.

Without a better way to word his thoughts, Yuuri settled on grabbing Viktor by the arm and pointing to his blown up photograph outside. The man took one glance at himself and laughed. "Oh, I didn't think they'd keep that after I announced my withdrawal for this season."

"What are you even advertising there?" Yuuri sputtered, blush still apparent on his face.

"It's a men's clothing line, Toni Vasiliev."

"B-but you've got nothing on!"

Viktor tutted. "Silly Yuuri. It's the shirt and the leather pants, of course!" Viktor pointed to the metallic rectangular patch just above the right back pocket. "See? Those letters say 'Vasiliev'."

Yuuri nodded slowly, glad that the traffic had gotten on the move once more, so that he could move past that flustering image of the man beside him.

However, Viktor appeared more popular outside the figure skating scene than Yuuri thought. Three more billboards later, the man's eyebrows had raised dangerously high, Viktor's nonchalance not helping his stupor at all. "Yuuri, don't be so surprised; your face was all over the subway in Hasetsu. Why, if we go to Switzerland, you'd see that Chris is no stranger to modeling as well." Viktor stopped abruptly, hand shooting up immediately, pointing outside, Yuuri's eyes following shortly after. "See? Even Yura's finally accepted to champion a brand."

"Wow..." Was all the Japanese skater could say, admiring the wall advertisement from a mall's glass window showcasing the young skater. Yuri's photo looked as if it was taken as he was jumping over a dingy, back alley wall. Aside from his usual fierce glare, the boy was sporting skinny black jeans ripped at the knees, and a simple black hoodie with some Cyrillic in the middle. "And what's he advertising?"

Viktor scoffed. "Isn't it obvious?"

Looking closer, Yuuri noticed the tiger prints on the boy's high top sneakers. "Oh."

***

"You can go get some sleep first; I'll just attend the meeting with the organizers, okay?" Viktor told Yuuri as he suited up. The skater watched him from his bed, sleep finally eluding him. Viktor gave him one look and huffed. "I mean it, Yuuri. Get some sleep."

"Yes Coach."

With a wink, Viktor was gone, and the Japanese skater sighed at the sudden quiet. Taking out his phone, he started to browse his SNS, stopping at a video Phichit had posted. Clicking 'play', it was soon revealed to be Phichit attempting a Quad Salchow during practice, landing cleanly only once out of ten trial jumps.  _'I'll nail this by next season!'_ Phichit exclaimed at the end of the video, sharing his megawatt smile and two thumbs up. Smiling, Yuuri 'liked' the video, deciding against using the 'wow' reaction, as it might send the wrong message. Instantly, his Messenger pinged, Phichit's chat box suddenly popping out on his screen.

 **Phichit** : Yuuuuri!!!!! \\(OAO)/

_Phichit is typing..._

**Phichit** : Good luck! ★o★

"Phichit- _kun_..." Yuuri whispered, a pool of guilt in his stomach.

He'd only ever received one email from Phichit after the call they had that fateful night. Not even during the Cup of China did they speak to each other, which oddly enough, seemed to have not affected both of their performances. Yuuri was sure he'd broken their friendship for good, until Phichit had shot him an email. Shame had come over him that night, and shame prevented him from responding to his friend's message to reach out.  _'I really, really am not a good enough friend.'_ Yuuri told himself, smiling sadly at Phichit's heartfelt message.

After a few minutes of staring at the chat box, typing and backspacing, his phone started buzzing violently, Phichit attempting to video call him.

 _"Yuuuuuri!!! Why have you been ignoring me???"_ The Thai pouted, eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead. Yuuri could only muster nervous laughter, looking anywhere else but his friend. Phichit sighed and eased his expression.  _"I'm not mad at you, you know?"_

Yuuri finally looked at his friend. "I know." In his mind, he added,  _'That's what I'm afraid of.'_

The Thai gave him a soft smile.  _"I'm sorry if I reacted that way before."_ He started.  _"It's probably why you stopped letting me know how you were."_

The Japanese man all but yelled at his friend. "That was not your fault!" He exclaimed, doubling back after noting Phichit's shocked expression. "W-what I mean is, you shouldn't apologize. If anything, only I'm at fault for this, especially since I roped in someone who wasn't supposed to know."

_"I'm your best friend. I'm not someone who 'wasn't supposed to know'."_

Silence embraced them both. It was Phichit who began their conversation anew.  _"Viktor cares about you a lot."_ He commented, looking at his friend fondly.  _"You had that done few months after Viktor arrived, right? He'd probably loved you before he saw it."_

"Yeah, I don't doubt that." Yuuri responded, softer than he intended, a certain tenderness in his voice. "He belongs to someone else though, and I'm not one to deprive him of his real match."

Phichit huffed.  _"Viktor's been marked for more than ten years now, and his match is still MIA."_

Yuuri chuckled. "Nobody's really seen his mark, I think. I've never really asked him if he's shown it to anyone else, but with how guarded Viktor had been while he was still under Coach Yakov, I doubt anyone had known, or else-" Yuuri shut his mouth, bitterly continuing his train of though silently.  _'-or else there would have been more fakers like me.'_

 _"But stiiiill._ _"_ Phichit whined, fist on his chest.  _"It must have been lonely at the top! Viktor's waited for that person for more than a decade now."_ He paused, appearing unsure of what he was about to say next.  _"I wouldn't fault him for accepting love from someone else when his match has been absent for all this time."_

"Phichit!" Yuuri hushed, wondering if there was someone with his friend. "Don't say that. They don't know either, most probably, and it's not like just anyone can go up to Viktor and present themselves!"

_"Like how Viktor went down to Japan and presented himself to you, as naked as the day he was born?"_

"Phichit, shut up!" The Japanese man shushed, a violent blush on his face as he recalled the glorious ice god emerging from the springs. "But I mean what I said. When that person comes, I'll give." Yuuri paused. "Even if that person doesn't, I'll still tell Viktor, after the GPF."

_"What if he wants to stay with you?"_

Yuuri paused, allowing himself to indulge the thought for a few seconds. With a resigned smile, the man answered. "He won't. Not after he finds out, anyway."

Phichit sighed.  _"Don't shove it out the door; you have to know what you want, okay, Yuuri? Viktor apparently has laid down what he wants."_

With a short pause, the Japanese man slumped back into bed, holding his phone by his side to avoid it falling onto his face. "You know perfectly what I want." He responded, almost exasperatedly. "I'm just not allowed to have it."

***

"Ah, so this is what the meetings are like!" Viktor exclaimed as he exited the conference hall with Yakov, the older man removing his hat to rub his bald head. His former student was still a bundle of energy, it seemed, and the elder Russian had to suppress the habit of scolding him. "Say, Yakov, do you have time?"

"Huh?" Yakov grunted, putting his hat back on. The silver-haired man beamed at him.

"Let's go out again! Lilia's watching over Yura anyway, and my Yuuri's catching up on rest; won't it be perfect for us to catch up as well?"

"You and your spontaneous ideas," The older coach scoffed, but nodded. "If you're so inclined, I know a good restaurant just a few blocks from the hotel. They serve good  _sbiten_ and the  _borscht_ Yuri likes so much."

The Viktor smiled even wider. "It's been a long time since I've had  _sbiten_! I never knew I'd miss something like that." The man grabbed Yakov by the arm, chattering away as they headed to the direction the older had instructed. As his ex-student recounted his experiences in Japan, the older man couldn't help but notice the striking changes the silver-haired man had undergone. Viktor looked older, but at the same time, exuded youth without coming off as a child, like he usually did in the past. He appeared tired, if the slight darkening under his eyes and paleness of his lips were anything to go by, and yet his eyes shone brighter and his smile was more sincere, as if he were having the time of his life. Yakov steeled himself to apologize for when his companion realized that he wasn't listening; Viktor the Coach, up close and personal, was slightly too daunting to wrap his head around, after nearly two decades of guiding Viktor the Ice God. Yakov never thought he'd live to see the day that his(he'd long given up in trying to disown Viktor; the man was a son to him, eccentricities and all) immortal, invincible skater would look so real, so human, so  _alive_.

"Yakov, you're not listening!"

He only grunted in response. "You speak so much foolishness that I've stopped trying to filter through your babble and just outright blocked you out." Even the pout Viktor gave him looked so much different.

"How cruel; and here I was that I was sharing my most precious experiences with the man who understood me most!"

"It is exactly because I understand you the most that I've learned to know when to listen and when to not."

"How cruel!"

There was no bite, as usual, in his tone, just the playfulness Viktor had always had ever since he was a young boy, but even that was different. It was unsettling, looking at and listening to Viktor, but seeing and hearing someone else, and Yakov wondered if he was supposed to be worried.  _'I always had been worried about this boy for one thing or another.'_ The elder thought as they entered the familiar restaurant.  _'I don't remember ever acting upon the instinct, however.'_ His eyes were glued on the silver-haired man, who'd easily found them a seat at the back of the restaurant, away from his fans, or anyone who could recognize them (Yakov snorted; he and Viktor were inseparable for twenty years.  _Anyone_ would recognize them, especially when they were together in one place.).

"I'll start off with  _borscht_ and have the  _sbiten_ on the side, but I'll also have a follow-up order of  _stroganov_ or  _shashlyik_. Which do you prefer, though?" Viktor said as he looked through the menu without reading it, awfully familiar with the cuisine despite months of delving into a different culture. Looking at his former coach, Viktor was met with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Until now, you still eat more that your body lets on. Mila would die of envy."

The younger man laughed, running his hand up and down his flat, chiseled abdomen. "What can I say? I love sampling different types of cuisines, and my body makes sure that I can continue to support that luxury." He lilted. "Mila shouldn't be too jealous; she's in peak physical condition from what I saw during the Women's GPF."

Yakov nodded, calling over a waiter. "She's been working harder. I believe that her program is worth more than just a Bronze this year."

Humming thoughtfully, Viktor agreed. "Ah, youth; Mila and Yura have such a long road ahead of them, and yet they're pulling ahead much faster than expected."

"I don't think I've ever had a student who'd ran this business faster and higher than you have, Vitya."

The younger man laughed once more, earning a blush from the waitress approaching them. Waving to her, the man listed his orders, and out of habit, confirming with Yakov if the food was to his liking. Once the stuttering waitress had reviewed and gone to place their order, Yakov allowed himself to laugh. "Until now, Vitya, people are falling for you left and right."

"It's flattering," Viktor drawled, resting his cheek on his hand. "I'd never indulge them for more than a smile though; Yuuri deserves more than that."

Yakov's smile softened. "You've changed." He responded, voice silent and raspy, as if he were speaking from far away and through a tube. The silver-haired man's smile shrank, hesitance clouding his eyes. The older man almost laughed at how puppy-like his companion looked. "Don't look so slighted; I meant it in a good way."

"In what way have I changed?" Viktor asked carefully, voice so guarded that Yakov wondered if he'd accidentally hit a landmine once more. The man's face fell, eyelids half-mast; doubt was not a good look on him, not at all. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I've become a better person, but I hope I have. For Yuuri, I hope to God I've gotten much, much better."

Floored, the elderly coach stared at his student, looking smaller than the first time he'd laid eyes upon him. "What's this, all of a sudden?" He whispered, keeping his voice curious, devoid of any interrogatory pushing. "Are you and Yuuri Katsuki all right?"

His eyes shot wide open, a small quiver of his lips not escaping the scrutinizing eyes of the old coach. Yakov narrowed his eyes. "What happened, Vitya?" His voice was low, and he tried his best not to intimidate his ex-student, but fear arose in him, dreading any sort of discord that could come between Viktor and his skater. The silver-haired man visibly shuddered, clasping his hands together and twiddling his thumbs.

"It's nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you." He responded, not looking at the older man. "The relationship had just begun and I think we didn't start on the same page." Sighing, Viktor continued to avert his eyes as he spoke. "It's a cultural thing, I gathered; Yuuri's  _very_ demure, shying away from physical contact most of the time, saying what he really means in a roundabout way that I sometimes don't catch the real meaning. I think I used to scare him off from how physical I could get, and I wonder if I've wounded him because of my bluntness."

Yakov's eye shone in understanding.  _'_ _The poor boy must have been terrified,'_ He thought, recalling all of the stories Viktor had told him in China. Looking at his former student now, the elder man almost wanted to give him a hug. Almost. "I don't think I've ever seen you this insecure; even when you were just starting, you always had no doubts about everything you did, as if you've calculated all the risks and returns of every possible outcome in your head." The man sighed when he was met with silence.  _'What changed?'_

The bitterness of Viktor's laugh was unsettling, to say the least. "I thought love was easy." He drawled, running a hand through his hair. "But it isn't always simple, it isn't always clear-cut. I love him dearly, and yet I've nursed a fear in touching him; I always want to be by his side, but there are times..." Viktor paused, eyes turning glassy before he hid them behind his sleeve. His voice was much quieter when he spoke again. "There are times that I strongly believe that it might have been better for him if I never came to him at all."

Sensing the tension, Viktor continued. "Don't get me wrong; Yuuri loves me dearly, and there is no force on earth that can tell me otherwise, and not even death would be able to tear me from him." He paused, seeing the waitress coming to set their orders. Nodding to her with thanks, Viktor continued. "But there are the quiet times, when I'm alone in the elevator, awake in the middle of the night, that I'm plague with thoughts I'd rather not have, thoughts I could do without thinking. I'm seeded with doubt despite my effort to nip them all in the bud, and I'm  _afraid._ I'm afraid that I can't be enough, that I won't be able to take care of Yuuri the way he needs to be taken care of, that at the end of the day, I'd look at him and I'll see him more pain than happiness."

A hand shot out to hold his, old and wrinkled strongly grasping young and firm, removing it from the entanglement in his hair he'd never realized he'd dug it into. It was a good thing that Viktor was able to secure the most private of booths, tucked in the back corner of the restaurant, away from prying eyes; there was no way he could have prepared himself for the mess he'd instantly become as he broke his walls downs in the presence of his previous mentor. "Vitya." Yakov punctuated, eyebrows knitted with worry. "Love is difficult. It will push you off the edge and pull the rug beneath you more times than you will be able to count. It will make you question everything at one point, and trust everything at another. If there is anything to say about it, it's that you will never understand love." The older man paused, catching the breath he never noticed had escaped him. He grasped his student's hand firmly, as if trying to wake him up from a bad dream. "It is not easy, but nothing worth having is. You decide, Vitya, if he is worth having." Yakov bit his lip, staring into the wide blues of the younger man. "Well, Vitya? Is Yuuri Katsuki worth it?"

"With no doubt in my mind."

It was so natural, so automatic,  _so Viktor_ , that Yakov was taken aback by his student's words. His mouth hung open with the surety of the man's answer, despite the man in question staying frozen under his former mentor's grasp.

Had he been like that, long ago, when he'd laid eyes on Lilia? Did his eyes encase such immeasurable passion and unrivaled desire? Did his voice present unwavering adoration and confident faith? Yakov secretly hoped that he did; Viktor had the weaknesses and fears of a human, but his selfless love was near divine. 

"Yakov?" The younger man squeaked, and the older coach immediately let go of his hand, as if he were burned. With a weary smile, Yakov rubbed his former student's arm.

"Look at you, all love struck and pining over a man who's already yours." The elder one said, taking a spoon to stir in the  _borscht_. "Why do you let something as measly as insecurity faze you when you've nurtured such strong feelings?"

A smile broke from his former student's lips. "You're right. Of course you're right." He said, laughing silently. "Is this how it felt, when you decided you wanted to marry Lilia?"

Yakov snorted. "Bah, it's been a long time ago; whatever damned emotion I was feeling back then has already been lost to the past." He waved off, starting on the red soup. "Don't bother yourself with the intricacies of time, Vitya. The past is gone, the future has yet to exist; all you have is the present to make how you will."

Viktor, despite how serious the air between them had gotten, let out a low whistle, infuriating his ex-coach. Before Yakov could blow a gasket, the silver-haired man held out his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry," He apologized. "It's just very rare that we'd get to talk like this. Mostly it's you yelling and me not giving a damn. It's refreshing really."

The elderly man didn't know which was better: to wring Viktor's neck or to snap it.

"You really know how to piss me off, VItya." Yakov growled, turning his attention fully to finishing the soup. Viktor laughed melodiously, digging into his own meal. When he was sure the other was too engrossed in the food, the silver-haired man sneaked fond glances at his former mentor.

He's got all of Yakov's wrinkles memorized, knew exactly which ones came to be because of him. The fold under his left eye that prematurely formed from all the twitching after each Quad Viktor did before he went Senior, the once charming dimple on his cheek that deepened from too much frowning after each disappearing act Viktor pulled in between seasons: Viktor knew all of them by heart (or by diaphragm, since that hurt after every laughing spree he had).

His old coach hadn't changed, and Viktor silently hoped that he wouldn't need to. "Hey Yakov." The man called, handling his companion a  _shashlyik_ , smiling. "I'm your favorite student, right?"

Yakov rolled his eyes, took the skewered meat, but said nothing. Viktor beamed even more. "You've been looking after me for a long time, haven't you? Even after those times I managed to go off radar."

"Of course, you daft manchild; do you know how wrecked my image would have been if I just let a sixteen-year-old idiot skating savant prance around Prague while masquerading as a mute woman because of a bet?!"

Viktor shamelessly glowed. "It was after that ice show we had in the Czech Republic, and the local skaters bet me five thousand Czech Korunas that I couldn't walk from the al fresco cafe to the apartment with the three frogs without someone calling me a crossdresser. Fortunately, puberty had not set in all too well and I was able to walk away with extra pocket money and cell phone numbers from random men."

"How are you proud of that?!"

"I knew I was safe." The silver-haired man responded softly, taking Yakov aback. "You were always just an alley away, after all."  _Thank you for always being there for me._

Yakov grumbled and took his mug of  _sbiten_. "You always needed watching over." _I'm here, as long as you need me to be._

"i don't say this often," Viktor said, in near whisper. "But thank you. I'll never forget that when I thought I lost everything, you stayed with me until I was able to pick myself back up. I would have been nothing, if not for you, Coach Yakov."

Yakov didn't weep; he just wordlessly left the table, locked himself in the washroom for a few minutes and returned with red-rimmed eyes. "What are you looking at?!" Yakov roared at Viktor when the younger man attempted to question his weepy appearance. "You ordered these damn  _shashlyik_ with dill! You know I have allergies!"

"Sorry, Yakov."

Yakov huffed, spearing the  _stroganov_ , all the while muttering curses under his breath. Viktor only smiled, eating silently.

Viktor wasn't really sorry, and Yakov wasn't really allergic.

***

"How was your dinner with Vitya?" Lilia asked the moment Yakov entered their two-bedroom hotel. The old man noted that it had gotten quite late, and both Mila and Yuri already asleep.

 _'As they should.'_ Yakov thought gruffly, despite the warmth brewing in his chest. As he hung his jacket on the coat hanger, Lilia brought out a pot of tea, pouring a cup for him and herself. As the scent of oranges and cinammon wafted in the air, the man smiled and took a seat by Lilia. "Thank you. Vitya sends his regards."

The woman raised one perfectly shaved eyebrow. "He could do more to see me next time." She said in mock annoyance, sipping at her tea. "How is he and his match? From the footage of the Cup of China, they appeared as if they were fighting one moment, and in dire need of a hotel room the next."

"They're as well as can be expected." Yakov responded, warming his hand on the cup. "No, I think they're far better, to be completely honest."

Yakov smiled to himself as he recalled how muh brighter Viktor's eyes shone whenever he mentioned his skater, proud and in love. His student had never been more elated, and the older man could almost sign Yuuri Katsuki's name on his last will and testament with how ecstatic he was that the Japanese skater had made Viktor truly happy. He knew he shouldn't go over his head, but Yakov wasn't to blame if he imagined two, beautiful men in matching suits a few times too many.

Lilia's lips upturned. "Oh? I must meet this Yuuri Katsuki; anyone who perfectly complements our Vitya is worth an invitation to dinner."

Yakov stared at her incredulously. " _Our_ Vitya?"

The silent treatment until the following day was definitely worth the rare treat of seeing Lilia flustered, sputtering and red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toni Vasiliev is not a real clothing brand (I hope)
> 
> I referenced the Tri Zaba from Monster, because I love Monster.
> 
> The Menu:  
> Sbiten - a hot winter traditional Russian drink. It's honey-based, with spices and jam.  
> Borscht - a chunky beet root and beef soup. It can be served hot or cold (in this case, it's hot.)  
> Stroganov - sautéed pieces of beef and mushrooms in a sauce with sour cream. It can be served on top of noodles (or rice).  
> Shashlyik - skewered meat that marinated in acidic marinate overnight, prepared with charcoal of wood


	18. The Price of Excellence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is yet to realize that love isn't as simple as the feeling makes it out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you enjoy this installment!

When Yuuri entered the elevator hall, he was met by one of the Rostelecom Cup competitors, Seung-gil Lee. He's never skated against him before, but from watching the NHK with Viktor, the Japanese skater figured that the Korean was less than friendly. Opting to cut his losses, Yuuri stood a good few feet behind him, waiting for the elevator.

**_Ding!_ **

He could hear the passengers before he could see them: inside were the Italian skating twins, Michele and Sara Crispino, and the participant from the Czech Republic, Emil Nekola. Michele had his sister tightly in his arms, spewing a mix of English and Italian insults towards Emil, who'd kept an innocent grin on, as if the Italian was not just cussing him up and down. Sara lamely leaned into her brother, facial expression indicating that she'd rather be somewhere else. Seung-gil did not even bat an eyelash, however, and Yuuri wondered if they were interrupting some European moment.  _'What's going on? Is this a fight?'_ Yuuri dreaded, not knowing if he should try to intervene.

"Now you listen to me,  _testa di cazzo_ , you stay away from Sara, or I'll break your neck into two!"

"Mickey! Don't be rude!"

Michele let out another string of angry curses, to which Emil seemed already impervious to. He held out his hands in surrender, a friendly smile on his lips. "Mickey! We were just messing around; no need to be angry, okay?"

"Don't  _okay_ me,  _coglione_ , I will maim you! Get your ugly hairy lips away from my sister!"

Sara pushed her brother away, hands akimbo. "You're going way too far!" She said, pushing Michele's nose with her index finger. The intense expression she had on her face changed when she noticed that they had an audience, instantly leaping into Seung-gil's personal space. "Hi Seung-gil!" She cooed, making the cutest face she could, then turning to Yuuri with a wave. "Hello Yuuri! It's been long!"

"Y-yeah, nice to see you again, Sara." Yuuri responded politely, voice fading out after the Italian woman turned back to the stoic Korean in front of her.  _'I better go soon-'_

"SARA! Get away from that  _stronzino_! You're making this immensely difficult for me!" Michele squawked, face beet-red from anger. Emil draped a lanky arm around the furious Italian, offering him a calming smile.

"Now, now, Mickey! Let your little sister have some fun, yes? She's a young woman now!" The Czech laughed, earning a seemingly weak push from the shorter man.

"And  _you_! Why are you all right with her flirting with other people?!"

Yuuri winced, slowly backing away from the odd group, not wanting to be pulled into their drama. _'Why do I have such rotten luck today?'_ He thought, shuddering at the thought of being the target of Michele's anger. _'How is Seung-gil taking all this in stride?'_

A good few steps away, The Japanese man quietly waited for the next elevator to come, but he was not spared from the loud, one-sided argument Michele was raining on the other three skaters.

"Let me date, Mickey! See? Emil understands!" Sara whined, ignoring her brother to continue pestering Seung-gil, who'd already made his way into the elevator. "Seung-gil, wait! We're going out for coffee, want to co-"

"No."

Sara pouted, but regained her composure right away. "Aw, don't be like that! Come with us!" She prodded, clasping her hands in front of her chest. Seung-gil turned around to acknowledge her, the coldest glare on his face.

"What would I gain from fraternizing with the likes of you?"

 _'Seung-gil...'_ Yuuri couldn't help but think, watching the group fall silent after the particularly sharp-tongued Korean left them to their own devices. He caught how Sara's eyes glinted, suddenly much glassier and a little red around the edges, her hands clamping on her phone a little too tightly. Michele, whose anger was doused for a moment before fanned into a greater flame, had begun grumbling in Italian, probably complaining at how coarse Seung-gil had been.

**_DING!_ **

Before Yuuri could close the elevator door, he caught Emil pulling Sara into a one-arm embrace, whispering inaudible comforts into her hair.  _'Poor Sara,'_ The Japanese skater thought, sighing sympathetically.

"Hey, Pig, what are you doing slinking around?"

Yuuri nearly died of a heart attack.

"Y-Yurio!"

"Don't call me that!" The smaller Russian growled, leaning against the elevator wall. Apparently, he'd been the sole passenger on the lift when Yuuri had rushed in, pressing the 'close' button frantically.

"A-ah, yeah, sorry. Good luck to us tomorrow."

Yuri grunted, turning to his phone, so Yuuri kept quiet until he got off on his floor.

***

"I'm ba-OH MY GOD."

When Yuuri entered their hotel room, he was greeted by Viktor, standing in the middle of the room, naked as the day he was born. The man shamelessly smiled, waving at his skater. "Welcome back, Yuuri!"

"Why are you naked?!"

"I just took a shower, silly!"

The dangerous blush on Yuuri's face disappeared when he noticed the small, black and gold mark under Viktor's chest. The Japanese man immediately closed the gap between them, cupping his coach's right ribs and staring him in the eye. "Viktor, we were supplied the  _kizuna engo_ for a reason!" He scolded gently, keeping one warm palm on the cold skin, the other reaching for a patch in his pocket. Viktor simply beamed at him, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, I just keep on forgetting!" He said, laughing. "I don't know why we still cover our marks when it's just us though, Yuuri."

The smaller man looked down, nodding slowly. "Sorry," Yuuri whispered, letting go of his coach. Viktor's gaze softened as he ran a hand through his student's hair.

"I'll go put a few on, okay? You can rest for the mean time." The Russian told him, taking the plasters in Yuuri's hands and heading to the bathroom. The heat rushed to Yuuri's face once more as he watched Viktor's back, unable to resist admiring the Greek god sculpt of his muscles. It didn't help that the silver-haired man took his sweet time in closing the door after him.  _'His bottom's definitely a top- BAD YUURI.'_ The skater scolded himself, clapping his face with both hands, as he dropped down on the bed.

 _'I'm never going to get used to this.'_ Yuuri moaned as he rubbed his face into a stray pillow, half-trying to suffocate himself with the fluffy material. The pillow was tossed away in a second, however. "Ugh..." Yuuri groaned. "It smells like him too."

"I hope you mean that as a compliment."

The Japanese man chuckled, turning to his now less naked coach, who'd put on three plasters- one over his mark, and two on his abdomen- and a simple black pair of boxers. "It smells like expensive shampoo, if that's what you want to hear." Yuuri responded, sitting up to make room for the Russian. Viktor had taken his place beside his student, pulling out a laptop from under one of the untouched pillows. Yuuri looked at him pointedly as the silver-haired man started the computer up. "I saw some of the skaters a while ago; they seem to be in strong spirits."

"That's good. It only means that you have to be at the top of your game as well." Viktor nodded, opening a folder of video clips and playing one of them. It was one of Yuuri's latest attempts at the Quad Flip, and despite being much better-executed, the man had yet to land it decently. "Yuuchan and Takeshi helped me take these videos while we were practicing at the Ice Castle, if you were wondering. I thought it might be good to have a record of all your attempts so that we can see what we can do to make it a clean land."

Yuuri nodded, taking over the laptop and viewing each five-second video. His eyebrows scrunched in frustration as he found no consistent flaw: he either over-rotated, crashed on his arm, touched the ice... the list went on. Every single clip had a unique mistake, as if the universe had conspired against him, willing nothing but for him to flub the jump. When he'd exhausted all the files, save for a text document he didn't open, the skater looked at his coach bashfully. "Do you have any idea on why I couldn't land it?" He asked quietly, as if he were saying something stupid. Viktor hummed, tapping his chin, before turning to Yuuri with a smile.

"Well, besides the lack of practice generally, since you've really just started trying this jump out ever since the Cup of China, I think the problem isn't from your technique."

"Oh?"

Two long, slender fingers poked Yuuri on his forehead. "It's in here." Viktor continued, giving his student a soft smile. "You have so many things on your mind that you leave room for little else."

The Japanese skater nodded, downtrodden, knowing full well how true it was. "I can't help but worry." He admitted. "The addition of the Quad Flip to my Free Skate was literally a split-second decision; now that I've attempted it, on international television no less, I'm more than a bit pressured that I won't be able to deliver." _'_ _Also, I've been mustering the courage to right my mistake, and that's done nothing for my sanity.'_

"You can do it."

Yuuri laughed shyly. "Maybe, maybe not. I'll keep practicing, I guess?" He drawled, turning back to the word file. "What's this?"

Opening it, Viktor revealed a series of computations that almost made no sense to Yuuri, especially since some of the letters he saw were in Cyrillic. "Are you doing Yurio's Maths homework, Viktor?" The two men shared a laugh.

"Never did that, never will." The Russian guffawed, scrolling up and down the file. "While watching some of your competitors performances, I calculated their TES with GOE, and PCS as accurately as I could to match their final scores. From what I gathered," Viktor paused as he scrolled to the bottom of the document, showing six lines of Cyrillic (Yuuri figured they were the competitors' names) with scores at the end. "This is what we're expecting."

Yuuri squinted, trying to make sense of the Cyrillic, wondering if Viktor had forgotten that he couldn't read the script. "Uh, would it be possible to change these in English?" He asked sheepishly, to which his coach's palm flew into his own face.

"Sorry, I forgot; code switching," Viktor groaned, changing the keyboard input and retyping the names in the English alphabet. "Right. Going back, Jean-Jacques Leroy's our biggest contender on computations alone; since he's got four Quads under his belt, it's safe to say that his base score has four or five points over yours. If you both skated to the best of your abilities, and even if you do ace the PCS, he would undoubtedly win."

"I see. So I really need that Flip."

Viktor hummed in response. "Not necessarily." He said, scrolling up to Yuuri's computation. "To include a jump you have yet to land this late in the game may or may not work in our favor. You have a wonderful Triple Axel and Quad Toe Loop, and your Quad Sal has gotten much more polished. However, even with a fully rotated, but flubbed Quad Flip, your friend Phichit was still able to score higher, despite only having the Quad Toe down."

Yuuri nodded, rubbing his chin with his thumb. "Phichit had a clean skate, so with no deductions and high GOEs, not to mention his PCS, the judges were able to award him more points, despite having a program with a lower difficulty than mine." The Japanese skater said, looking over the computation once more. He looked up at Viktor, confusion evident on his face. "So taking Gold is hinging on JJ miraculously destroying his program?"

The Russian snorted. "How mean," He laughed, earning a glare from his student. "We don't hope for our competitors to commit mistakes." The man ruffled Yuuri's hair, pulling the skater in for a one-arm hug. "What I'm trying to say is that nothing can beat a perfectly executed program, and no one can interpret On Love: Eros and Yuri on Ice better than the very man they were choreographed for."

Yuuri looked up from Viktor's chest, eyes bright and hopeful, and in turn, the older man gazed down lovingly at him, his half-lidded eyes curtained by long, silver lashes. A blush crept onto the Japanese man's cheeks, the blues of Viktor's gems too tantalizing to not admire. They were the color of the calm skies and the enigmatic sea, a marriage of peace and turbulence on the horizon. Gulping, the Japanese man adjusted himself, pressing his forehead against Viktor's. "Don't you ever take your eyes off me."

" _Solnyshko_ , when have I ever looked away?"

***

If he were being true to himself, Yuri Plisetsky wanted to watch Katsuki Yuuri's performance on the rink side, preferably beside the Japanese skater's coach, Viktor Nikiforov. Since he was already being honest, Yuri also would admit that it was less to watch Yuuri skate and more to watch Viktor  _watching Yuuri skate._ However, his turn came exactly after the Japanese skater's, and Lilia wouldn't let him out onto the rink until it was his time.

Something about keeping his nerves intact. Yuri really didn't understand it, since he was absolutely certain he'd floor his competition (especially that self-absorbed fucker, JJ), and he'd nearly sold his soul to Lilia Baranovskaya, what with all the practice he'd had. Besides, his grandfather would be watching On Love: Agape live, for the very first time, and he didn't want to disappoint.

Resigned, the blonde stretched in front of the television, watching the Korean skater take the ice. The music started, and Yuri had to wonder if all the skaters who were gunning for the GPF had some sort of repressed urges, considering Seung-gil Lee's movements were also downright sexual.

"Gross." Yuri muttered under his breath as he spread out his legs, loosening the stiff muscles of his thighs. As appalled as he made himself out to be, the boy was more than just a small bit curious. "Why is everyone so fucking horny?" Despite this, he kept his eyes on the screen, more than just a bit mesmerized by Seung-gil's movements. He suddenly wondered why he was so eager to take Eros over Agape back in Hasetsu; in retrospect, it had been  _such a good idea_ to have Viktor switch the programs for them, because no way in hell was Yuri going to prance in heat on ice. An angry blush crept onto his face at the mere thought of him swaying his hips in a less than innocent fashion.

"Love is such a driving force."

The blonde boy froze, turning his head around to see his choreographer looking at the television thoughtfully. "Every single skater here is skating for love." She continued, earning a confused look from Yuri, who'd looked as if he'd beg to differ, but knew better than to stop Lilia Baranovskaya in mid-speech. "Do you see Seung-gil Lee? His movements project utmost greed, want, desire,  **love**." Yuri scoffed.

"What for? For all we know, he's only calculating the TES and the PCS with each move, guessing the GOE after he'd made a jump."

Lilia hummed in response. "His precision with numbers works in this kind of program." She said, finally looking at her student. "His face is stoic, but you can see it in his movements, with every shudder of his arms and the nearly uncontrollable strength of his steps, he craves for perfection, pushing himself further into the fire, burning himself alive in hopes he'd turn into a diamond instead of ash." The woman nodded to herself, closing her eyes. "His coach must have known this man's thoughts very well, translating his calculative nature into the unleashing of subliminal greed."

"Why are you telling me this?" Yuri asked her, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest. Lilia tuned him out for a bit, agreed with the score given to Seung-gil, and turned back to her student.

"It's because unlike him, you have been able to perfect the technical aspects of the program Viktor made for you."

"So you're just trying to make me feel that I'm loads better?"

Lilia almost rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "No, you are a textbook and he was a novel. You only show us how it should be done, as any instruction manual should, but skating is more than just an individual sport, more than some men in flashy spandex trying to out-spin and out-jump each other." The woman reached out her hand, running it through Yuri's golden hair. "Skating is beautiful because it isn't quantifiable just by numbers and pseudo-objective judging systems. You generally follow a routine you've spent months,  _year_ _s_ , perfecting, but the emotion you feel each time you set your feet on the ice, every time you move to the music of your story, it's different."

Yuri couldn't turn away from her lime eyes, mesmerized by the conviction burning within. Lilia caressed his cheek softly, before letting his face go. "How they connect with their music and choreography, how they interpret them and lay their stories down to the audience, that is true measure of a figure skater." She let her words sink in, before continuing. "It is not enough that you move perfectly, that you are beautiful on the ice. You must let your performance speak for you, speak to your audience; make them weep in agony if the man you play is heartbroken, cheer if he is triumphant, swell if he is in love."

The blonde boy looked away, shame painted on his face. "This is about my Short Program, isn't it?" He spat, recalling how he under-performed, falling behind JJ at Skate Canada. Lilia shook her head.

"No, this is about you as a skater."

"Are you saying that I'm not good enough?!"

Yuri almost bit his tongue at his outburst. Lilia was not at all fazed. "On the contrary, you  _are_ good enough; I wouldn't have given you the time of day if I ever thought you weren't."

The boy clucked his tongue. "Then why does it feel like you're grinding on me?"

"Because I've taught you all I know, and you've received them well; but you are  _still_ lacking, and I'm afraid it isn't something I can teach."

Lilia, with finality, touched Yuri's forehead with her index finger, and then touched his chest, just above his heart. "Your theme coincides with love, does it not?" Yuri gulped. "Months ago, Vitya asked you: 'What is Agape for you?' Have you found the answer?"

It was almost automatic. "My Grandpa."

Yuri cleared his throat and looked up to his choreographer. " _Dedushka_ is unconditional love. There is no one who loves me more than he does." The boy blushed violently, fists shaking. "It's always been him, even way before in Japan, under the waterfalls."

Lilia made a mental note to asked about the waterfalls at a later time. "Why do you love him?"

"Excuse me?!"

" **Why do you love him?** "

"Because he loves-" The boy caught his tongue in mid-sentence, the color draining from his face.  _'Because he loves me.'_ He added voicelessly, biting his lip, ashamed. Lilia, to her credit, pressed the question no longer, moving to squeeze Yuri's shoulder.

"Agape, unconditional love; it is self-sacrificing, without asking for anything in return. You give, and give and give and give."

"And when I've nothing more to?"

She didn't even miss a beat. "You give and give still."

Her words had more of an impact to the boy than Lilia could ever imagine.

***

When Yuuri took the ice, Yuri stood still in front of the screen, dying to be on the rink side instead. His ears tuned out the Russian commentators, everything engulfed in white noise and the presence of two men by the rink. There were too many camera flashes from the background, but the blonde could see the Japanese skater perfectly, leaning against the rink wall, blushing slightly as his coach tied the laces of his skates with utmost precision. Yuri's nose crinkled.  _'Why, Viktor? Why are you stooping so low for someone like him?'_ The boy asked internally, wondering why someone of the Russian's caliber had knocked himself down more than a few pegs just to serve  _anyone_. "You had the world at the palm of your hands, so why...?"

The boy gritted his teeth, grinding them together painfully as he watched Viktor wave thoughtlessly to the crowd, which had taken to cheering for the man on the bleachers instead of the man on the ice. But, to his surprise, Yuuri grabbed his coach's necktie, pulling his face down to his, and the blonde boy wondered, with a blush, if such displays were better off behind closed doors. He'd been short of five inches away from the television screen when he caught himself, embarrassed, and recoiling the wall after seeing Yuuri say something to Viktor but not hearing what it was.  _'They're definitely a match.'_ Yuri thought to himself, scoffing at how the two were still keeping mum about it.

As the skater clad in black and diamonds glided to the center, the crowd went oddly silent, anticipating the familiar and bone-chilling waves of the guitar to begin the spell.

The strums resounded, Yuuri Katsuki licked his lips a little too sexually in front of  _international television_ , and Yuri Plisetsky nearly lost the breath he never knew he was holding. "Shit." The boy growled, pulling his hood up, and against Lilia's calls, moved to the stadium's higher seats, just to get a glance of the pig who'd suddenly morphed into something much, much more dangerous. He'd almost fallen back, too, as the television did not do Yuuri any justice, no number of screen pixels able to express the very man who was sex on ice. There were no blatant displays, or movements that were directly suggestive, but he was beckoning the audience to him, seducing them into loving him, and he was doing a damn good job at it too.

Yuri bit his lip, forcing a feeling of envy at the bottom of his stomach, trying to dispel the turbulent uneasiness he was totally a stranger to.  _'He's polished this routine so well after the Hot Springs on Ice.'_ Yuri thought, despite already knowing that (he'd watched all of Yuuri's Regional and GPF qualifying performances, after all), feeling slightly left behind.  _'Just you wait, piglet; you may have that stupid coach of yours to fuel your Eros, but when Ded'ka comes, you'll see that you're not the only one who can express love so strongly on ice.'_

A hand is suddenly on his shoulder, and Yuri almost cursed the entire stadium out, if he weren't silenced by the grim look on Yakov's face. Sighing, the boy tutted. "I know, I know; I'll be down in a bit, just let me watch until his final combination."

"Kolya won't be coming."

Yakov might as well had cancelled Yuri's Short Program.

"W-why?" The boy asked, voice silent and uncharacteristically weak. Yakov, at the very least, looked as if he were disappointed himself.

"He couldn't get up well today, something about his joints and his back. I've already sent for an on-call doctor friend of mine to check on him, but I since haven't gotten word."

He was suddenly six years old again, when he still wasn't above throwing a tantrum.

"Why?! I've practiced and practiced and  _practiced_ , so that when  _Ded'ka_ finally sees it, he'd see my Agape, my unconditional love for him!" Yuri hissed, trying his best not to call attention to himself. Yuuri's Short Program forgotten, the student and his coach stormed back inside, catching Lilia just getting off a phone call, the woman letting out a sigh of relief. Yakov approached her, placing a hand on her back.

"Well? Has Dr. Kovalenko arrived at Kolya's?"

Lilia nodded, turning to Yuri. "Your grandfather's fine; Kovalenko told me that the pain comes with the approaching winter season and had prescribed Nikolai medicine. He won't be able to come here today, but he's sure to be here tomorrow, for your Free Skate."

 _'But it's my Short Program that's about him!'_ Yuri screamed in his head, but kept mum, silently accepting the turn of events. On the outside, the boy was simply his cool, brooding self, but inside, he was slowly turning into putty, for the first time wanting nothing but to slip into a deep slumber and wake up to his grandfather's cooking. Instead, he allowed Yakov and Lilia to usher him outside, removing his jacket to reveal the shimmering white suit he'd received from Viktor months ago.

Just in time, he caught Yuuri exiting the ice, carrying as many stuffed sushi plushies as he could, gazing at Viktor in that love struck way that made Yuri's blood boil. What's worse, Viktor returned the gaze, as if they were the only two people in the world, as if there were no cameras watching him unfold himself. "Tch." He spat, clinking his skate guards on the carpet, catching the older men's attention. When his glare was met with happy, surprised eyes, the boy's anger turned into confusion; at that point, Yuri wanted to shout at them, kick them even, because  _why did they look so happy to see their competition?_ "Get out of my way."

Speechless, the two parted and let Yuri remove his guards before stepping on the ice, moving to the Kiss and Cry as they spoke. "Is this Yurio's Agape? He looks cool!" He heard them gush, and he felt his nails dig painfully into his palms, creating angry, red crescents. Carefully not to slash the ice too much, the boy skated to where Lilia and Yakov were, ready to receive some last minute coaching, and he was listening well too, until Yuuri's score was announced.

"109.97! Yuuri Katsuki has broken his personal best once more!"

His head whipped to the screen, indeed seeing Yuuri's name shot up to first place, with a score over a hundred, before turning back to the two on the Kiss and Cry, just in time to see Viktor kissing Yuuri's skate.

"Oh, what is this? Looks like Coach Viktor Nikiforov is overcome with pride that he kisses Yuuri's skate!"

 _'W-why?!'_ Yuri growled internally, personally offended that Viktor, once again, had willingly pushed himself lower than ever.  _'This is what you gave skating up for? Attending to that pig, putting yourself below him, becoming less and less than a legend and more and more of some nobody on the sidelines?'_

They caught him seething, but with how bad Yuuri's eyesight was, and how utterly oblivious Viktor appeared, the men probably didn't see that he was out for blood. "Yurio!  _Davai_!"

Most probably out for  _their_ blood too.

" _Ganba!_ " Viktor cheered, nearly hitting Yuuri in the face with his enthusiasm, waving his arms over his head like a madman. Yuri could have sworn he was strong enough to crush the rink walls where they stood.

_'Do I look so pitiful that even my competition cheers me on?!'_

**"-from St. Petersburg, Russia, Yuri Plisetsky!"**

He didn't even wait for Yakov or Lilia to turn around; Yuri simply sped off to the middle of the rink, biting down his snarl, trying to focus on the smallest bit of love left in his heart.

_'Will you come to the rink with me again tomorrow, Dedushka? I promise I'll do better, even if Mom's not around.'_

The old, yet vivid memory of his grandfather's indulgent smile graced him, but the warmth it usually brought only worsened his bitterness so.  _'I'll skate this stupid program, and I'll do better.'_ Yuri took his starting pose, the angelic singing filling his ears as he moved to the song he supposed he could never understand.  _'I'll do better, even if Ded'ka's not around.'_

***

98.09.

The four digits taunted him, the smoldering rage he felt put out, with only the ashes of frigid agony left to survive the dying smoke. He was second,  _again_ , and he'll most likely fall to third if JJ wasn't going to flub his obnoxious Short Program.

As the music began, Yuri had half the mind to stab himself in the ear with his toe picks, considering how annoying he found the voice and the words to the song were. It didn't help that the man on the ice, who was doing his jumps  _perfectly_ , was someone whose name he'd write on the notebook from that Japanese anime that killed victims under a minute. As he and his coaches moved to the seats, Yuri gruffly turned to Lilia. "Don't tell me this is your interpretation of love as well."

The woman only sniffed. "That boy loves himself too much that you need to be  _dead_ not to notice."

Yuri loved her for a second for that comment. Yakov rolled his eyes.

"Ego aside, I want you to watch how he launches himself for all of his jumps." The old man huffed, pointing at JJ. The blonde boy nodded absently, wishing he had the foresight to have Lilia hold onto his phone. He was trying his best to continue seething about his grandfather's sudden absence, but the Russian knew better than to blame an old man for the effects of aging. He'd solemnly promised himself that he'd make sure to leave all the negative feelings on the rink, determined to dote on his grandfather when he got home. "Yuri, maybe it would be for the best for us to start moving; Kolya contacted me a while ago and is insistent that he apologize to you as soon as he's able."

Something warm bloomed within his chest, and Yuri swore he knew he'd never be able to hold a grudge on the old man. With an embarrassed blush, Yuri turned away with a nod. "Okay." The elder two began to move back into the lockers, Yuri in tow, when the sound of arguing caught their attention.

"-you have to go back!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I have to be with you here?"

"But Makkachin-"

"Yakov!"

Next thing he knew, Viktor was walking towards them, a sort of desperation present on his face. Yakov and Lilia's faces were stoic, but their eyes shared

Viktor's eyes lit up, the most brilliant of blues Yuri's ever seen, sparkling with what he assumed as unshed tears of frustration. Looking at Yuuri, the blonde supposed that the squabble left little to the imagination: the Japanese skater looked absolutely livid, as if Viktor had insulted his mother. "Thank God! Yakov, you are the only coach for me!"

"What in the devil are you spewing now, Vitya?"

The man grasped the old coach's coat sleeves, pleading eyes too brilliant to ignore. "Please be Yuuri's coach, just for tomorrow."

"HUH?!"

***

Yuuri and Viktor didn't know it, but Yuri had been in the shadows, watching their exchange in the hotel lobby. "What is this, really?" The boy whispered to himself, confused and pissed at how the events had turned out. "If you really loved that pig, why are you going to Japan for your dog?"

The two exchanged a hug, Viktor holding Yuuri's gaze a while longer after they'd pulled apart. "I'll be with you in spirit." The silver-haired man declared, grasping Yuuri's hands. "Do your best."

Yuuri simply nodded, and the boy in the shadows almost felt sick with guilt.  _'I didn't want it to turn out this way.'_ Yuri swore in his mind. He could almost laugh at the cruel, cruel turn of events, backtracking all his thoughts, hoping to whoever's listening thst he never willed his problem on the Japanese man.  _'No, he can't skate his best without you!'_

It was entirely irrational, he knew it himself, but Yuri swore he'd be unable to skate his best again if Yuuri Katsuki didn't qualify for the final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is very late compared to my usual pace, I'm sorry about that! >.<
> 
> There's a Yuri!! on Ice fan meet/convention coming up this weekend where I live, and I had to focus on my cosplay for the most part. >.> reasons, reasons
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	19. The Wall Crumbles and the King is Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the value of a soul mark?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU!!!
> 
> I'm so happy that this story's getting so many reads! The number of hits and kudos are heartwarming and definitely inspiring. I hope you all still enjoy it!

_"Mama, Dada, wait!"_

_Alan, a tall, lanky man with brown hair, stopped immediately, turning around and kneeling down in front of the small blonde boy. Natasha, petite and blonde but with a larger presence than her companion, took a few steps forward before sparing a withering glance. "Yes,_ moy kotyonok _?" The brunette asked tenderly, gently holding his son's arms. "Do you want to say anything to Dada?"_

 _The boy nodded, placing his hand on Alan's jacket_ _, over the dip of his father's left clavicle. As he kept his hand on the cloth, the blonde child looked up to his stoic-faced mother. "Mama, you too? Come here please?"_

_Despite the obvious scowl on Natasha's face, she obliged, carefully bending her knees so that her son could reach for her gloved hand. "What is it, Yuratchka?" She asked, her voice oddly soft as compared to her disposition._

_"Show me your marks!"_

_"O-of course!" "Not again."_

_Thankfully, Alan's enthusiasm overshadowed Natasha's gripe, the man immediately pulling part of his jacket and shirt away to reveal a cloth wrapped around his torso. Pushing that away, the father showed his son a a sparkling mark with black embellishments behind it. Reluctantly, the woman removed her glove, peeling off the silicon patch from the back of her hand, revealing the same image. The small blonde boy couldn't help but break into a smile. "See? The same!" He giggled, touching the sparkling images with his small fingers. "You'll come back soon, I'm sure."_

_Alan only smiled sadly. "Mama and Dada can love you still, even if we do not love each other anymore, okay,_ kotyonok _?"_

_The boy didn't even notice that his mother had been painfully quiet, arching his thin eyebrows at his father. "But you are soulmates! You have to be together forever."_

_"I'm so, so sorry, my little one. We will love you so fiercely, even if we cannot do it together."_

_The sunshine left the boy, a metaphoric storm cloud hanging above him. "No."_

_Natasha sighed. "Yuri, please, enough; Alan and I can no longer be together. It is not working out."_

_"I want both of you! Not one or the other!"_

_"Well, we don't always get what we want!"_

_Alan, for the first time in weeks, grabbed his ex-wife's hand. "Natasha! That's enough! Yuratchka's only a child, for God's sake!"_

_The woman pulled her hand away, a string of seething words resting dangerously on her tongue. "Do.not.touch.me. Understood?" She whispered through gritted teeth, before turning to the terrified child. "We tried, but it doesn't always work out. You don't have to accept it now, but someday, you will."_

_"Natasha..."_

_The boy began to cry, beryl eyes mirroring his father's of the same shade. "But you're supposed to be happy together forever!" Alan almost broke down into tears as well, having half the mind to kneel in front of his ex-wife and beg that they not push through with the divorce. If only for his young son._

_"My little one, I beg for your forgiveness, but please, let us love you the only way we are able to." He pleaded, seeing the frustrated determination in his son's eyes. How many times did he see the same fire in the eyes of the boy's mother?_

_"No!" The boy growled, on his face a perfect carbon copy of the scowl his mother was wearing. "Don't come for me if you're alone! I want Mama and Dada, not just one! Come back when you love each other again!"_

_With that, the boy had run off further into his grandfather's house, the two adults no longer able to follow._

_***_

Yuri opened his eyes, the light bulb of his grandfather's cozy, peach bathroom greeting him with its soft, yellow glow. Sitting up straight, the boy managed to spill some of the bathtub's water onto the floor, cursing to himself and making a mental note to mop it up after he finished his soak. The water was already reaching a lukewarm temperature, and he'd need to finish soon anyway or he'd shrivel up. Slowly, the blonde boy pushed him off the tub, carefully stepping out it and reaching for his tiger print towel. It had been a gift from Alan, his grandfather told him, but Yuri had already moved to Saint Petersburg to train and had no time to visit Moscow just to collect it. Yuri rubbed his face onto the fluffy material, and made a mental note to dry it off and pack it with him back home. Before he forgot, Yuri grabbed a rag to dry off the floor.  _'One less mess Ded'ka has to clean up.'_

Turning to full body mirror, Yuri observed himself: pale skin, lightly toned body, fine, nearly invisible blonde body hair. He really did look like a porcelain doll, as much as he'd hate to admit it, what with his nearly blemish-free body. Frowning, the boy parted his legs slightly, angling his left thigh to reveal a small, coin-sized mark. His eyebrows narrowed at the sight. "When did I even get this?" He asked himself, grasping at his hair in a futile attempt to remember.

After he'd moved from Moscow to Saint Petersburg, Yuri never really had time to watch over himself; his dorm didn't have a full body mirror, he raced to the bath queue when the clock struck 4:00am to make sure he made it to the rink early, and  _who looked between their legs anyway?_ He was sure that he didn't have it back in Moscow, considering the delight he took in soaking in his grandfather's bathtub, but Yuri was only eight when he moved to Saint Petersburg. He was thirteen when he moved out of the stuffy dorms and into his own self-funded apartment(just beside Yakov's, really), and only then did he notice that there was something like a tattoo on his inner thigh.

Obviously he'd panicked, wondering if he'd gone drinking before he was legal and made some bad choices, but as blurry as his memories were from speeding through practice to become the best, Yuri was certain he'd never done anything of the sort to jeopardize his chances. He didn't have too many friends his age either, and despite the closeness he'd found himself sharing with living legend Viktor Nikiforov, the man was too busy or too annoying for him to open up about it. So, like any paranoid teenager, thirteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky laid his dilemma on the internet.

Anonymously, of course. No need for headlines like "Russian Skating Prodigy Yuri Plisetsky, Actually a Wild Child?". Nope, no sirree.

Yahoo! Answers wasn't too helpful, since everyone just assumed he'd gotten a rub on or henna tattoo as a prank, and the people on Reddit kept on asking for pictures of the thing, which he'd rather die than give. It was on his inner thigh, for God's sake; during a point of desperation, however, Yuri shamefully Googled if it was still considered child pornography if it were the child himself uploading pictures of his naked self online.

He didn't push through, thankfully; Kolya would have died of a heart attack.

Yuri wasn't sure if it were some stroke of luck, or he was definitely going to get a taste of karma really soon, but the answers he so longed to have came as an overheard conversation between Yakov and Viktor.

_The entire time Yuri had peeked through the door, he'd expected to be scolded by the two older men with the ferocity of a thousand lions. He didn't really mean to, but he heard Viktor talking about a soul mark, how he'd had it for over ten years already, and how no one had even come forward to try and claim him._

_"This must have been my fault." Viktor lamented as he slouched, topless with his back turned to their uninvited listener. "I've pushed myself to heights I never imagined I could reach so that my soulmate would see me, and seek me out. It seems that it's backfired and the fame I've gotten only served to push away anyone who'd try to come near."_

_Yakov, with his broad back also turned to Yuri, placed a wrinkled hand on the man's bare shoulder. "Vitya, this takes time. I know that it's been too long, much longer than I thought it would take, but you have to be patient." The older man said, the gruffness of his voice unparalleled with the softness of his words. Viktor turned, his face a painting of distress and resignation, and Yuri was taken aback; he'd never seen anything but a smile on the skater when he wasn't emoting on the rink, and the Viktor wearing the downcast mask('_ or was it his real self? _' Yuri wondered.) was nearly unrecognizable._

_"I'm not immortal," Viktor joked, laughing humorlessly. "Soon I'll be twenty seven, and the timer for my career would tick faster than I can keep up with. The moment I step down the podium for good is the moment I lose all my opportunities to reach out to them."_

_Yakov turned to fully face him, Yuri moving further away from the crack of the door in fear of being seen. Fortunately for him, the old man was too occupied with his star student to notice his other charge on the other side of the room. "Have you ever considered trying it out with non-matches?"_

_The coach looked as if he'd regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. Viktor had whipped towards him quickly, revealing half of his torso to Yuri, who'd clamped his hand to his mouth soundlessly._

_It was small, but in plain sight; a golden Polaris embraced by a black laurel crown marked Viktor Nikiforov's ribs. Yuri crawled away from the door as quietly as he could, remorse eating at him for learning more than he wanted, **more than he should** , about his rink mate. As he moved further and further away, Yuri's mind reeled with the newfound information, unable to stop himself from entertaining the stolen thoughts._

_Viktor Nikiforov had a mark, for more than ten years._

_Viktor Nikiforov had never been claimed._

_When he was far enough from hearing range, Yuri stood up and sprinted away, heart thumping far too loudly for his liking. As skewed as his line of thinking had become, Yuri allowed one more self-indulgent thought before he exited the hall._

_Viktor Nikiforov, like him, was not wanted._

He winced at the memory, eating his words as surely Viktor had definitely been wanted after all. No one could mistake the adoration in Yuuri's eyes whenever he looked at the silver-haired Russian, and their body language spoke volumes of the quality of their relationship despite their words of it being few and far in between. In retrospect, Yuri should have understood why Viktor had acted the way he had, being more than glad to serve beneath his skater.

Yuri supposed he'd be somewhat the same if the person he'd longed to meet for more than a decade was given to him too.

Dressing up, the boy exited the bathroom, his nose being tickled by the delicious smell of breakfast wafting through the small house. Gulping as his hunger made itself known to him through quite an audible rumble, Yuri felt his thigh before moving to the kitchen, where his grandfather had just finished a batch of  _syrniki_ and was laying the bowl beside a plate of sausages. The old man smiled through his beard, waving to his grandson. "Yuratchka! Just in time; I was sure you'd fallen asleep in the tub."

Yuri laughed, sitting across his grandfather. "It smells great!" The blonde exclaimed as he piled a few cheese dumplings and sausages onto his plate, making sure to leave a larger portion for his grandfather. He could just get more if he was hungry. "How's your back?"

"Ah, much better than yesterday; Dr. Kovalenko is a miracle worker!"

Yuri smiled, digging in as Nikolai poured him some tea, dropping three cubes of sugar and a lemon slice in the cup. The boy muttered his thanks, mouth too full of food for a proper sentence. The old man smiled to himself, holding a mug of  _sbiten_ to his chest. "You must be sick of hearing it, but I'm really sorry I wasn't able to watch your performance."

Yuri swallowed a lump in his throat, together with the cheese. "Don't think about it anymore, Dedushka; you couldn't help it; if you did come with that bad back of yours, I might have not performed as well as I did because of worry, you know."

The old man simply nodded, a smile trying to break through his glum expression. "I will watch tomorrow, though, for your Long Program."

The boy nodded sending another smile Nikolai's way. "Thanks, Ded'ka."

***

"I see, so this is your Free Skate lineup." Yakov noted as he looking through Yuuri's routine. Looking at the Japanese skater, who'd kept his eyes on his shoes, the coach sighed in an attempt to get Yuuri to look at him. "I am not going to bite you, Yuuri Katsuki."

The man reddened. "R-right. I'm sorry."

 _'This boy is a mess,'_ The old coach thought to himself, removing his hat to rub his bald head. "How on earth were you able to keep up with Vitya? Look at you, shaking like a leaf, and we haven't even gotten to the ice yet."

Yuuri's face fell further, and Yakov wondered how Viktor was able to work around such a fragile skater.  _'I guess that boy had some coaching skill after all.'_

"S-sorry, Coach Yakov." Yuuri repeated, looking at the old man with large, chocolate eyes. "Yes, that's the program Viktor and I made for the Free Skate, but we've changed some jumps, especially switching the Quad Toe to Quad Flip at the end."

"Bring the Quad Toe back; you are not doing a Quad Flip today."

Yuuri's eyebrows shot up dangerously with shock. "E-excuse me? With all due respect, Viktor had been training me to perform the Quad Flip for the finale of the program! I-I don't think we should change it back."

The old man sighed. "You have not landed the Quad Flip, not even once, but the Quad Toe has been one of your regular jumps for a while now, with a higher rate of success. Compared to the zero percent success rate of the Quad Flip so far, your best bet is to use the Quad Toe."

"B-but Viktor-"

"-has entrusted you to me, and I swear to you that you are in good hands." Yakov cut in, effectively silencing the protesting skater effectively. "Do you understand what hinges on your performance tomorrow?" The coach didn't even let him respond. "You might feel comfortable now, being in second place, but remember that you need to place fourth or higher- and I'm hoping for higher- to qualify for the Final. You have a higher chance of scoring better on a program with a lower difficulty that you can perfectly skate, than a program with a higher difficulty that you can earn deductions and negative GOEs from."

For some reason, the Japanese man's expression softened, a small chuckle escaping his lips.  _'Has he finally succumbed to pressure and lost it?!'_ Yakov panicked, unsure of what to do. He'd never had skaters who were gigglers when they panicked, if they panicked at all, and he palmed his smartphone in his pocket, ready to call Viktor at a moment's notice. The skater took one look at the coach and started laughing again, covering his mouth the best he could with his hand. "S-sorry, I don't mean any disrespect." Yuuri chuckled, clearing his throat and looking Yakov in the eye. The older man noted the surge of slight confidence in his eyes. "It's just that I've never thought Viktor took after you in so many ways."

"Really now?"

"Yeah." Yuuri nodded, shyly looking at his hands, before scratching the back of his neck. "You and Viktor seem so different, but your actions, words and advice about skating are so similar it's uncanny!"

The old man scoffed. "That boy's never had a coach other than me," He muttered, looking away, lest Yuuri see the pride bloom in his eyes (and on his cheeks). "Who else would he have taken pointers from other than me?"

Yuuri laughed again  _thank God_. "Right." He said, finally able to hold his ground without swaying from side to side and looking at everything but Yakov. "Thank you for taking me in, even though I'm competing against Yurio-Yuri."

Yakov waved him off. "At this point, there is nothing I can do that Lilia cannot; I can, at the very least, take my errant student's place on the rink side and Kiss and Cry for one night. Besides, that dog has been with Vitya ever since he qualified for Juniors, and they've been inseparable since." If something happened to Makkachin and Vitya wouldn't be there for him, well, the old man could come up with many worst case scenarios of varying degrees of severity. Yuuri's eyes dropped once more.

"I think I know how that may feel." He whispered, almost too faintly for him to hear. The coach stared at his temporary student, wondering what he meant,  _then_ recalling what happened the year before at Sochi. From what he gathered, the boy's childhood dog had suddenly passed away, and some irresponsible person from his household had called him  _right before his Free Skate_ and thought that it was a good idea.

 _'Of course the boy had gotten sixth; he would have placed tenth if it was possible.'_ Yakov remembered himself thinking, thankful that Viktor wasn't able to see the small piece of news. Makkachin was old- but unbelievably healthy- and the dramatic manchild would have thrown a fit and cried as he skated, changing his planned theme for the following season in a heartbeat. At least within the walls of his mind, Yakov could admit that he'd terribly missed his former student's antics.

"Has Viktor messaged you if he'd landed?" The old man asked, watching Yuuri scramble to pull out his phone from his bag.

"Uh, not yet; it might take around three more hours before he's actually in Hasetsu. I'm pretty sure he'll forget to turn off Airplane Mode again and I'll receive an update when he's realized that nobody's been messaging him."

Yakov quirked an eyebrow. "You look oddly calm, despite your initial outburst yesterday."

The Japanese skater smiled apologetically and scratched the back of his head. "My sister has already called me for an update on Makkachin; he's doing much, much better, but they need to keep him at the vet's for another night just to make sure they were able to pump out all the plastic he's eaten."

"Where did he even get the meat buns?"

Bashfully, the Japanese skater looked away. "I guess from the shrine offering we have for my dog. My mom always makes sure to leave some meat buns for him before and after he died." He whispered, and Yakov asked no more, not really understanding why dead dogs needed food anyway. Clearing his throat, the older man led the way to the rink.

"I've seen your Free Skate a couple of times already, but I've never seen you perform it without a flubbed jump." Yakov told him as Yuuri stretched. The skater nodded grimly, carefully absorbing the coach's feedback. "From what I gathered, it seems that your launch into jumps that you ultimately flop is too powerful. I know that adding more strength to a Quad ups the success rate of getting in enough rotations, but you must know that an uncontrolled force can and will mess up your landing."

"Right."

The old man pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm assuming that you still feel some sort of panic when readying for a jump?"

"Yes sir."

"Then that is the problem we need to address." Yakov circled Yuuri as he finished stretching, giving the man a once over. "Skaters panic for a lot of reasons: the worst of them lose their cool for forgetting the choreography, trying out jumps they've never landed in practice during competitions(he noted the slight twitch Yuuri's eyebrow did), and the list goes on. However, even the best of them, even Vitya, slips from a landing despite doing it a million of times. Yuri, for example, had been consistently landing his Triple Axel for a whole year, only to fall yesterday."

Yuuri looked slightly worried. "Is he okay? He got up pretty quickly, so I thought it was no problem, but..."

"No, he's fine, didn't even bruise." Yakov waved him off, a bit put off that the man had interrupted his train of thought. "Going back, the fall you took from the Quad Flip was expected; I would be shaking in my boots if you landed it cleanly. However, at the Cup of China, you had one hand when you landed the Triple Axel, and over-rotated the Triple Salchow of your last combination. The Triple Axel is a jump you're known for, and you've been landing the Triple Salchow even during your Junior days; care to tell me what was on your mind back then?"

Yuuri visibly paled.

"Well, Yuuri?"

 _'This is odd.'_ Yakov noted internally, stoically watching his temporary student return to the shivering shell he'd been just half an hour before. Yuuri visibly closed in on himself, and the shudder had returned-more violently, even- as the skater's eyes widened, a hand slapping over his mouth.  _'What on earth...?'_

"E-excuse me!" He suddenly yelped, muffled by his hand, pushing past Yakov and blindly sprinting to the nearest toilet.

Yakov Feltsman had never been stumped in his entire career as a coach. "Wait, Yuuri! What happened?!" He shouted, a few seconds too late, groaning to himself after realizing the futility of his actions. Thoroughly confused and just slightly irked, the old man sat down on one of the benches, waiting for Yuuri to come out as patiently as he was able to.

What he didn't count on was waiting for more than ten minutes.

"Enough." The man growled, stomping angrily towards the cubicles. "Katsuki! You get your ass out of here, or so help me-"

The stench of vomit offended his nose right away, the sight of the Japanese skater in question- who was topless, might he add- running water over his soiled practice shirt shocking him quiet. Yakov didn't fail to notice the plasters littering his temporary student's body, sodden flesh-colored strips that seemed nearly peeling off, skin disappearing under a pair of water(and something else he didn't want to acknowledge)-darkened pants. It was bizarre, the situation that unfolded before him; what had set Katsuki off? Had it really been that bad to illicit such a reaction? "Yuuri, you need to tell me if you are feeling sick. As beneficial as it is, practice is worthless if you would just worsen your condition."

Yuuri looked at him with miserable eyes, rimmed with red and damp from his accident. The Japanese skater's lower lip quivered, as if not trusting himself to speak, before he let go of his shirt, the cloth laid forgotter at the bottom of the sink. "I-I'm so sorry, God, this is embarrassing." He muttered hoarsely, embracing himself gingerly. "C-can I get a few minutes? I have an extra shirt; i'll just finish up and I'll be on the rink."

Unable to think of anything appropriate, the old coach nodded before moving out. " _Kuso!_ " Yakov heard Yuuri shout after he shut the door, and he didn't need to know Japanese to understand frustration.

Any other skater (except his own, of course), Yakov would have huffed and left him to his own devices. He never believed in helping the enemy to increase his own students' potential, thinking it was counter-productive and borderline traitorous.  _'But... this boy isn't just any other skater.'_ The old man thought, listening to Yuuri's muffled cries. Sympathetically looking at the door, as if he could see the man curled in on himself, bent over the sink, Yakov decided that he would go the extra mile for Yuuri Katsuki. He'd been going for an infinite number of extra miles for Viktor all those years, headaches and high blood pressure all worth it in retrospect; being a father-figure to his errant student's match, the old man figured, wasn't a tall order to fill. Viktor loved Yuuri immensely, if his previous conversations with the silver-haired man were anything to go by, and what was important to Viktor would be important to Yakov. Cringing at the hurried huffs Yuuri was making, together with the slapping of wet cloth against the tiled floor, The coach thought it best to to intervene before it got worse.

Pushing the door open, two things struck Yakov at once, and he was hard-pressed as how he had to feel.

One: Yuuri was  _bawling_ and had removed everything he had on, save for a pair of low-rise black boxers.  _Everything._

Two: The blasted boy had not one, but  _two_ soul marks, one on each hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh boy.
> 
> On a side note, I just want to gush over the Yuri!! on Ice fan meet I attended last Sunday. I've never been to a fan meet before (I never knew they had cons for specific anime, tbh) and it had been one of the best experiences I've had! The con started and ended on time, the staff were strict but let the goers enjoy to the max (We kinda caused a scene for some fan service in the line, but they only shook their head and laughed), and the people were WONDERFUL. Don't get me started on the merch (internally squeals at my growing Viktorium) and the cosplayers (I LOVE YOU ALL).
> 
> It was a wonderful experience, being surrounded by people who love YOI as much as I do. Shout out to IAmAgent707 whom I got to meet, Anya and Georgi rock! Thank you for your kind words, I'll be sure to see this fic to the end. :)


	20. Until the Clouds Hide the Moon Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just looked at the stats and HOLY MOLY: I'm so happy that this story is able to reach so many people.
> 
> Keep being awesome!

For as old as he was, Yakov Feltman's strength was far beyond that of someone half his age. It was admirable, how ancient arms, chunky with excess fat and flapping skin, were still capable of rugby player pushes, how wrinkled, stubby fingers were powerful enough for a bruising grip, and how his already intimidating expression could still turn much, much more horrifying, easily turning blood into ice.

Yuuri, on the other hand, had effectively shrunk from immense fear, shaking as if he were convulsing, teeth chattering uncontrollably. The wailing had stopped, but the tears continued to fall, silently and bitterly, each drop offering itself to the enraged man's hands,  _please let him go, you're hurting him, please_. He knew, with all of his being, that he deserved all the anger Yakov would unleash onto him, welcomed it, even, but no number of sleepless nights spent thinking and overthinking would have prepared him for the unbridled anguish on the older man's face.

Yakov's face contorted painfully, veins visibly pumping from under the skin of his temples, teeth clamped together tightly as if he had sunk them into his prey; his eyes, however, had gotten red and swollen and absolutely _betrayed_ , unshed tears put the streams flowing down the Japanese man's face to shame. Yuuri wept harder, no longer for himself, but Yakov; the man was, in all intents and purposes, Viktor's father, and he was definitely reacting exactly as he should.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The Russian growled, so very unlike his usual roaring to the ice rink. He shook Yuuri violently, the younger man hitting his back against the cold wall tiles. "Answer me, you lying son of a bitch;  **why do you have two marks**?!"

He tried to speak, he really did, but Yuuri felt his throat constricting, familiar tendrils he'd never missed embracing him. "I-I'm sorry...!" The skater choked, drowning in fear and tears. His apology fell on deaf ears and rage-blinded eyes, the old man shaking him once more. Without warning, Yakov pulled Yuuri's boxers a bit lower, revealing the full images on his hips. "C-coach..."

"Don't you dare call me that." The old man spat, observing the marks on each hip, putting his focus on the one familiar to him. "This is Vitya's." He whispered, running the pad of his thumb against the sparkling, newly-placed metallic Polaris tattoo, tracing the black ink of the laurel crown. Yakov abruptly slashed a blunt fingernail against the gold, Yuuri crying out at the unexpected and sharp pain, too shaken for words.

Wordlessly, the Russian examined the sparkling material that gathered beneath his nail, turning to the reddened skin revealed from the ruined Northern Star, and finally to Yuuri's trembling brown eyes. "He loves you."  _How **could you** do this?!_

Yuuri could almost see the tendrils, holding him in place, slowly but surely squeezing him, until he ran out of breath, until all his bones broke from the pressure. "I-I love him."  _I don't deserve him._

" **Why?** " Yakov hissed, voice hoarse and breaking. "Why would you do this?! Fame? Money?  _Sex?!_ "

" **I WOULD NEVER!** "

He hadn't stopped crying, but Yuuri had at least found the will to move, to talk back. He knew how soft he must have appeared, almost naked and red-faced, his puke-soiled clothes littering the tiled floor. A rough hand grasped him by the face, thick fingers digging themselves into his cheek. "For years,  _ **years**_ , I've protected Vitya from serpents like you, people who wish nothing but to swallow him whole, suck him dry and spit him out dead." The old man halted his tirade, pointing to the black snowflake with silver wings, running his finger against the sparkling area, a little less violently than before. Seeing no change in the mark's appearance and no glitters under his nail, Yakov turned to the terrified man once more. "Vitya, that fool, always believed that you were his match. Even before that video of you beckoned him, even before he got on that plane to Japan."

As Yakov's grip loosened, Yuuri crumpled on the cold floor, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees, too tired to continue crying. He heard the old man sigh and drop down on his knees, to which Yuuri met him at eye level. "Yuuri Katsuki, twenty-three years old; JSF certified at sixteen, qualifying but never winning at Juniors until eighteen, when you took a two-season break to adapt to your schooling in Detroit and coaching with Celestino Cialdini." The Russian paused, taking in the thoroughly floored expression on Yuuri's face. "Returned as a Senior at twenty, consistently winning Nationals and qualifying for the Four Continents, but not World's and the GPF; your first GPF qualification was last year at Sochi, which you placed sixth. Cut ties with Cialdini after placing badly at Nationals, missing Worlds and the Four Continents once more." Sighing, Yakov urged himself to continue, if only for clarity's sake. "Around that time, you mimicked Vitya's Free Skate, someone posted it online, and the bumbling idiot found himself in your hot springs shortly after."

"I-I don't understand..."

" _But_ _I do_ , if you needed any clarification." The old man bit, eyes unblinking. "If it  _still_ isn't clear, what I'm trying to say is that I didn't let my student fly off to Japan and look for some skater without doing some background checks. I know you, Yuuri Katsuki: your fears, hopes and dreams, your character and your personality, everything about your skating and everything extending far from it."

"W-why?" Yuuri gasped, sincerely confused at the turn their conversation took. One moment, he was sure that Yakov was going to murder him, and suddenly they were both on the floor, at a questionably empty skating rink, and the fire-breathing dragon from moments ago had settled down and opted to speak to him in such a cryptic yet intimidating way. Unfortunately, his question fell on deaf ears once more, as Yakov continued his litany.

"You allow yourself to be taken advantage of, never voicing your wants and needs, always apologizing and always staying out of the way. You succumb to pressure too quickly, and are affected by your surroundings too deeply; you skate as you feel, and this can be both a good and a bad thing."

"Why are you telling me this?" Yuuri begged, voice hoarse. He would have continued to cry had he not been dried out, what with Yakov slapping all his shortcomings against his face. The old man kept his expression guarded yet intense; the Japanese man was never any good at reading people, and he didn't particularly want to know what the Russian coach thought of him.

"Let me tell you something about Vitya." The coach said as he sat more comfortable on the floor. Yakov knew he'd find it laughable, and to some extent, humiliating, when he woul recall the strange situation he'd gotten himself in. There Yakov Feltsman was, sitting on the seemingly spotless tiled flooring of a rink restroom, in front of a man he really should have be strangling, but had a one-sided conversation with instead. He internally scoffed; he was mad and Lilia  _was right_ to leave him. "Vitya is a master of slipping into different personas, becoming a different person entirely at a drop of a hat, should the need arise. This is why all of his performances are more than just a man with flawless quads on ice; Vitya was never just one person, and that's what kept the world guessing and anticipating his next move, his next self."

Yuuri nodded, albeit still confused, recalling how unrecognizable Viktor was every time he took the ice, until he had gotten used to the silver hair and the twinkling blue eyes. "That stupid coach of yours is a showman, a performer,  _a living, breathing porcelain mask_." Yakov sighed bitterly, memories of Viktor's youth assaulting him. "It took me a long time before I could read the language of that boy; he was at the cusp of adulthood, with that long, flowing silver hair of his pooling at his feet, when I realized that despite the years I've spent with him, I've known nothing about him. Only then did I learn."

"O-oh... C-coach, I don't follow..." Yuuri stuttered, absolutely lost.

"You are nothing like Vitya."

The skater's heart clenched; he knew too well how far Viktor and he were on the spectrum, but it still hurt to hear it.  _'I know, I know, I know, I know,'_ Yuuri chanted inside his brain, begging the ground to just eat him alive, because that would have been less cruel than whatever would come out of Yakov's mouth. The silver tendrils lingered at his sides, no longer constricting, but waiting, as if they were anticipating him to lose control once more, and then, they will strike.

"Vitya conceals his emotions perfectly, and you never know what he means. You, on the other, wear your heart on your sleeve, your chest, your face, your  _everything_." The older man continued, sighing as he removed his hat to rub his head. "You cannot lie to me, to Vitya, _to anyone_ , to save your life."

Silence.

The old man grabbed his right knee and pushed it down, revealing the battered Polaris. "That is most definitely fake." Yakov huffed, removing his hand from Yuuri's knee and pointing towards his chest. "Unfortunately for you, Vitya and I, what's in there is absolutely real."

"I'm sorry," Yuuri whispered again, unable to say anything else as he gently removed Yakov's hand from his knee, covering his mouth.

"Why did you do this?"

 _'Because I'm weak, and I couldn't accept that he wasn't mine.'_ Yuuri thought, a fresh set of tears he never knew he still had pooling at the corners of his eyes. "I... I love him."

Yakov turned away and hung his head. "As much as I'd love to wring your neck for it, you are blameless when it comes to how you feel." The man growled through gritted teeth. "Matches gravitate towards each other, almost unnaturally so; with how sudden and impulsive Vitya's decision to become your coach was, it's hard not to even hope for the impossible." He paused, turning to Yuuri. "How did you see his mark?"

Yuuri poured himself in telling the entire story, how Viktor had gotten drunk, how Makkachin licked the plasters off, how  _purely accidental_ it was for him to have taken a picture of Viktor's mark, and how grief and desperation drove him to a tattoo artist who used to specialize in replicating soul marks. Despite his initial hesitance and his overall discomfort, the skater was able to bare his heart out to Yakov, even going as far as telling him about the dream in the tub and the tendrils of silver hair that never quite left him alone. When he was done, all talked and cried out, Yuuri stared into Yakov's tired blue eyes, seeking solace he knew he wasn't supposed to have. "I-I'm sorry, I told you all of this, when I'm sure you didn't want to know."

The old man shook his head. "Now that everything's been said and done, it doesn't matter how I feel about it. What I want to know now is what you plan to do." He paused, eyeing Yuuri like a hawk. "Were you simply going to keep up this farce until Viktor finds out?"

"N-no! I-I... I've always meant to tell him."

"Then why haven't you?"

***

Michele Crispino took the ice, the Italian skater being cheered on by Emil Nekola, who seemed incomplete without Sara by his side. The man hung his head, waiting for the music to start.

_'Can you see me, Sara?'_

As he moved with the ballad, all Michele could think about was how his sister sprung up on him,  _minutes before his skate_ , telling him that they should finally part ways, that their skating would only suffer with the continuous co-dependence that they were fostering. As he entered into a Quad Salchow, the skater pretended to see Sara beside the Czech on the rink side.

_"I got my mark!"_

_Michele was only ten years old when Sara barged into his room, jumping up and down on his bed, announcing that her soulmate had fallen in love. He muttered something about being too early in the morning, that Sara was_ too _young to have her soulmate, before pulling her in for a pillow fight. Later on, when they were already tired out and were only a mess of giggles, Sara pulled up her shirt and revealed a small, sparkling image the size of a coin, just above her belly button._

_"Look, Mickey; this is what love looks like!"_

_"Ugh, that's gross and stupid, Sara."_

_He never told anyone that he spent an hour inside the bathroom, examining and re-examining his entire body for a symbol._

_He never told anyone that he spent an hour more locked in the bathroom, crying because his skin was unmarked._

He'd nailed the Quad, gearing himself for the upcoming combination. As Michele turned to the rink side once more, his chest tightened as he found Emil, head flitting side to side with that worried look on his face, as if looking for someone. The moment the Czech saw him looking, however, the signature smile made its appearance.

"You'll surely one-up me again, Mickey!"

Biting his lip, Michele launched into a Triple Flip-Single Loop-Triple Salchow combination, making sure that the moisture in his eyes dissipated from the spins.

_Sara was sixteen when Emil entered their lives, then a small European (German? Austrian? They didn't know) boy of twelve years old. Initially, Michele thought nothing of it, but the boy was also a skater; living right next to each other, he and Sara allowed Emil to walk with them to the rink for practice._

_"Hi! I'm Emil. My dad and I just moved here." The blonde introduced in his very shaky Italian. "I see you guys at the rink all the time! Can I tag along going there?"_

_"Of course!!!" Sara squealed, pinching Emil's still-chubby cheeks and taking his hand in hers. "My name is Sara, and this is my twin brother, Michele."_

_The boy looked at the girl, tanned with black hair, then at Michele, light-skinned with with brown hair, before turning to Sara once more with a smile. "That's so cool! You're definitely twins; you have the same pretty violet eyes!"_

_Michele turned away with a cough, trying to suppress a blush from the compliment._

_"Yup! Michele sounds too old though, call him Mickey!"_

_"Sara!" "Wow like the mouse!"_

_It became a daily occurrence for more than a year, and it was always Michele, Sara and Emil. Despite his initial coldness, the boy had latched onto him like a leech, following him everywhere, especially when Sara had begun her addiction to social media._

_That is until Emil turned thirteen, qualified for Juniors and moved all the way back to his home country without even saying goodbye._

_They spoke no more after that._

Michele let out a shuddering breath as he landed the last jump of the combination cleanly, sending a quick, thankful prayer for the catch. Making another spin, the Italian tried to spy a familiar head of black hair in the audience, most likely beside a certain redheaded Russian, but his movements were to quick for him to identify anyone else but the overenthusiastic blonde on the rink side. Gearing up for a Triple Axel, Michele allowed himself to submit to the music once more.

He, after all, had chosen it as the swan song of his first love.

_Michele was twenty when he'd first qualified for the Senior Division of the European Figure Skating Championships. This was, of course, a proud moment for himself, as he was able to catch up to Sara, who'd already qualified for the GPF and Euro the year before. Apparently, he wasn't the only new meat on the quest to dethrone the three-time Euro champion; among the household names Nikiforov of Russia and Giacometti of Switzerland was the relatively unknown but strangely familiar Nekola of the Czech Republic. Turning to his sister, Michele asked, "Who's Nekola? Did you see him last year?"_

_Sara shook her head. "Never heard of him. He's relatively young, though; ten years junior of Viktor!" She cooed, pulling Michele to a hall beside the stadium's lobby where the skaters' tarpaulin posters, in search for the mysterious Czech skater. The two stopped in front of the poster of a tall, blonde man with a beard and mustache, perfectly preserved in a sit spin while his soft blue eyes were playfully looking at the camera. The Italian woman looked at Nekola's information in the pamphlet she had, turning to the picture once more with a raised eyebrow. "He looks_ too _big and old to be sixteen..."_ _She lamented with a blush, which Michele didn't fail to catch._

_"Don't tell me you've fallen in love with him already!" Michele teased, his smirk falling when he realized that his sister had ignored him to continue looking at Nekola's poster. Her eyes were wide, pupil dilated, and her soft lips were parted ever so slightly. "Sara...?"_

_The dark-haired woman snapped back into reality, laughing nervously as she noted her brother's confused gaze. "What? He's cute," She cooed, laughing into her hand. Then, she added. "Awfully familiar though, those eyes."_

Even he was surprised when he was able to land the Triple Axel, but Michele urged himself on, feeling the fatigue brought by physical and emotional weariness.  _'Just a little longer, it's almost over.'_ Michele thought, his heart clenching at the last word. Desperately, he tried to look for Sara once more as he glided on the ice, performing his step sequence with doleful longing.  _'Ah, this is the first program I've skated without ever seeing Sara during the routine.'_ The man lamented, gearing for his final jump, the Triple Lutz.

_Michele was in his dressing room when he heard a knock on the door. "Who is it?" He called, wondering if Sara had sneaked in again. "It's not locked."_

_When the door opened, Michele's jaw dropped, him staring at the man he and Sara had been talking about not more than an hour prior. Nekola was indeed tall, but despite his facial hair, had the face of a boy, all wide smiles and intrigued eyes._

_"What are you doing here?"_

_The man winked and strode across the room, enveloping Michele in a bone-crushing hug._

_"Mickey! It's been so long!"_

_"Wh-what?! Who the hell are you-"_

_The Italian stopped himself, pushing Nekola from him and took a good look at his face. The soft, blue eyes, the quirky smile, the untame blonde hair: everything came crashing down on him at once, a blush- from embarrassment or something entirely different- forming on his cheeks as his gaze dipped to the man's neck, collarbone, and he froze._

_It was like dropping ink on parchment, the pigment breathed with a life of its own as it swirled and formed a small, yet solid black image. The skin in the middle discolored, the ridges of the epidermis flattening and sparkling under the soft dressing room lights._

_All things considered, Michele was supposed to be amazed he was able to witness the birth of Emil Nekola's soul mark, since there had never been any footage of such. At that time, however, he figured that the more important matter was thst Emil's soul mark was exactly the image Sara showed him a decade ago._

Michele held his pose, recalling the unguarded moment of him telling the friend he'd been reunited with that his sister was his soulmate. Emil had momentarily lost his smile, worry and fear flashing through his eyes, before regaining a sad excuse of a grin.

_"Oh, is that so?"_

Michele couldn't forget the confusion and uncertainty Emil expressed voicelessly as he looked at the newly-appeared mark on the mirror.

_"I fell in love with some kid when I was six years old. Just someone who gave me a chocolate bar when I fell on the ice after my very first attempt at a single toe loop. I can't even remember if it was a boy or a girl, and I never saw them after that day. Isn't that funny?"_

Michele didn't think it was hilarious, and he didn't believe that Emil thought it laughable either. As he took his last bow and skated to the Kiss and Cry, the Italian gave the audience one last gaze, still unable to find Sara, with Emil out of sight as well. Michele felt his chest constrict. His coach patted him on the back as he placed his blade guards on, but all the skater could think about was why his sister, and the man who was arguably his best friend had both gone missing.

Michele smiled bitterly to himself.  _'It's bound to happen, anyway.'_ He thought, fearing the day Emil decides to let Sara know.

_"You've been too strict, Mickey! Lighten up, and let Sara meet new people!"_

_"How are you okay with this?! Isn't she your soulmate?!"_

The scores he received placed him in first, and Michele prayed nobody knock him off; he knew, of course, that with how many competitors the cup had left, there was only such a slim chance for him to stay on the standings. Resigned, the Italian hung his head low, wondering what he'd do after the Rostelecom Cup.

"Mickey!"

Just like that, Sara appeared from the sidelines, running into him with a tackling hug, and Michele had never realized how bad he missed his twin. "That was the best I saw you skate!" The woman exclaimed, tearily looking at her brother with pride."I'm sorry I said all those mean things to you. They must have hurt, right?" Sara smiled at him apologetically, playing for the tip of her hair. "But I'm glad I did, we are better apart after all!"

Michele wanted nothing but to sorely disagree, but Sara didn't give him a chance to, his younger sister bolting to wherever she was hiding to watch Seung-gil's Free Skate. The man could only look down helplessly.

"Spirited, as always."

Looking up, Michele turned to Emil, who'd spared him a happy-go-lucky smile, to which he scoffed. "This is the end for me, but I swear I'll do better next year!"

Michele rolled his eyes, glancing at Seung-gil's painfully sloppy execution of his jumps. "Don't mark yourself down yet." He felt pathetic, unable to finish his more than false statement. The Czech only laughed.

"I'm not marking myself down, but I do understand that the GPF is an entirely different beast, even without Viktor Nikoforov. I'll definitely calibrate myself; I may not have outshone Plisetsky amd Leroy this year, but I did my best and I'm thrilled at the prospect of improvement." Emil beamed, smiling softly at his friend. "Maybe you and Sara can train me?"

"You won't touch my sister-" Michele stopped himself, regaining his solemn composure. His eyebrows met at the top of his nose, wrinkling his forehead. "When will you tell her?"

Emil's smile was wiped off his face.

"I haven't considered it yet, to be honest." The Czech muttered shyly, looking down for the first time that evening. "Besides, Sara is still having the time of her life, dating around and hanging out with friends. She won't be young for long, and when she's ready to settle down, I'll make sure to present myself."

Michele almost socked the younger man in the face, opting to grab him by the collar of his jacket instead. "Listen to me, you sorry piece of  _culo_ ; Sara has had your mark for  _twelve years_ , and I've done nothing but fend off all those horny hyenas from her!" He bit his lip from saying more, deciding to continue his litany in his head.  _'In hindsight, I should have protected her from myself the most.'_

Emil's Adam's apple bobbed nervously, him looking down at Michele but feeling like the smaller man. The Italian tugged on him once more for good measure. "Mickey..." The Czech skater whispered, covering Michele's trembling hands with his much larger ones. Shooting a look at the slowly gathering reporters, the taller skater pulled Michele inside, to the safety of their dressing room.

The Italian let him go, moving a foot from Emil. With steely eyes, Michele said, "Don't you want to be with your soulmate?" The other man looked away.

"I haven't really thought about it."

In an instant, he was banged against the wall. Through gritted teeth, Michele growled, "Well, then,  **think about it**."  _I didn't let her go just so anyone on the street could have her._

"Would it make you happy?"

"The hell?"

Emil had pushed back, for the first time, grasping both of Michele's hands in his. The two tumbled onto the carpet, the smaller man cradling the younger as they fell with a _thud_. A tangle of limbs and a chorus of groans, the two skaters looked at each other with only one eye open before laughing silently. The Czech skater pushed himself off the Italian's chest, hovering over Michele at an arm's length, the latter turning away with a slight blush. "Do you really want me to tell her?" He asked.

 _'No, because I want to protect her for a little longer.'_ Michele thought, looking back at Emil with downcast eyes. "Yes, because in spite of your cluelessness and general gullibility, I'd rather you have her than anyone else."

Emil's face was unreadable. "Really? You think I'd be good for her?"

"No, but the Higher Power does, considering you have the same mark."

Emil laughed humorlessly, pushing himself up, straddling Michele awkwardly. "Right, right, of course." He giggled, covering his face with his hand. "I'll... I'll be good to her then. With how much you love Sara, she only deserves the best."

The Czech's gaze lingered, longingly melting blues into Michele's violets, as if trying to convey a secret message. "You better; I'll tear you limb after limb if you make her cry."

"And if I make  _you_ cry?"

"Not in this life, not in the next. Now get off me."

Emil wordlessly obliged, pulling Michele up with him as they dusted their costumes. The elder of the two frowned, noticing something off about his companion's smile. "Why do you look so sodden?"

"Do I? Give me a minute; I'll be happy in no time."

Michele was about to respond with something snarky when the taller skater reached for his hand, pulling it to his face. "You love Sara a lot." Emil stated as simply as he breathed, looking fondly into Michele's eyes. "Don't worry, okay? I'll love her for you, the best way I can."

As if to seal his promise, Emil pressed a soft kiss to Michele's knuckles.

Michele wondered why his chest hurt when the blonde's lips left his hand; he knew it was too late when the Czech had gone out the door.


	21. Agape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Yuri doesn't understand, and then he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some self-harm here, but it won't happen again, and it's not really because of self-hate.

Yuuri watched the scarce cars pass him by as he stood by the metal fence of the snow-covered sidewalk. He'd just gotten off from a call with Viktor, the Russian peppering him with praise as he emanated pride from the other line of the phone. He did, however, give Yuuri an earful regarding his sloppy footwork, promising a more rigorous training when he returned to Hasetsu. sighing to himself, the Japanese skater adjusted his face mask and leaned onto the steel divider.

 _"Yuuri! We need to make sure that you can skate even when I'm not physically there, okay? I need you to know that you are never without me; I'll always,_ always _, be there for you."_

"Not for long, you won't." Yuuri whispered bitterly, recalling the incident after the qualifiers were announced. He'd lost himself for a bit and began embracing every breathing thing he could get his hands on, until everyone had gotten the memo and steered clear of the weird, needy Asian skater who'd miraculously qualified because of the higher standing he got in his first event. Yakov had found him nearly walking into a wall, grabbing him by the arm and bringing him into an empty dressing room.

_"Katsuki!" Yakov growled, pushing Yuuri to sit on one of the plush chairs. "What in God's name are you doing?! Do you want to get reported for sexual harassment?!"_

_Yuuri simply looked at him dumbly, before the weight of the old coach's words sunk in, embarrassment filling his cheeks. Yakov cradled his head in his hand, shaking it as he took a chair of his own to sit in front of his ward. "Look, I didn't bring you here as your coach." He paused a moment, waiting for the Japanese man to look at him. "I'm here for Vitya, and I want you to straighten this mess you made."_

_Yuuri nodded slowly, grabbing his arm for support. "I know."_

_"You need to put an end to this act." Yakov began, leaning in closer. "But you and I know how stubborn and mule-headed Vitya is; with how much in love that fool is, he won't be able to think clearly or make any rational decisions." The old man scoffed, laughing to himself. "As if he'd made many decisions of the sort before."_

_Looking down, the Japanese skater bit his lower lip. "W-what do you think is the best course of action that I take?"_

_"I think you already know, but just so you can hear it from someone else, I'll tell you." Yakov closed his eyes, as if bracing for the onslaught of an upcoming migraine. "_ **You** _need to end this."_

He still cringed at the memory(to his credit, it  _was_ only a few hours ago that he and Yakov had sat down to talk about it.), and more than ever, he'd feared how everything would turn out. The old coach was justified in his worries, and his imperative request was the least of what Yuuri was supposed to do. "I should have ended before it go this out of hand," He lamented, pressing his gloved hands together. "I should have never even started this stupid thing."

Touching his thickly-clothed hip, Yuuri gulped, remembering how Yakov had scratched off his metallic tattoo, the temporary rub-on flaking underneath the man's nail. He'd never gotten around to fully removing it yet, the sight of the ruined Polaris more painful than the sting of Yakov's claw. "How would Viktor react, I wonder?" Yuuri whispered to the falling snow, the hurt expression on his coach that he'd gotten so accustomed to seeing(he hung his head low from shame on this one as well; it was just as if he was out to give Viktor the biggest heartbreak of his life.) flashing before him. Viktor's lower lip quivered ever so slightly when he tried to understand a turn of events that didn't work the way he wanted it to. His brows raised and met in the middle, as his eyes dilated and turned glassy from unshed tears. He was Viktor Nikiforov, the 'living, breathing porcelain mask' according to Yakov, who'd taken the elderly man  _years_ to figure out, and yet he was also Viktor Nikiforov, the man so purely, hopelessly in love with Katsuki Yuuri, the man who'd shattered his masks and flayed himself open for Yuuri to see.

Viktor had been a whirlwind, rearranging Yuuri's boring life and placing himself in the center of everything, all the while putting the Japanese skater's wants and needs in perspective. He was painfully blunt and sickeningly sweet, exactly like a brat and yet totally an adult; Viktor, as Yuuri had come to realize, was more a man in outrageously expensive shoes, and less a God on golden blades. The Viktor from the television, magazines and the podium- the unreachable, perfect, and legendary king of the ice- had slowly receded, as the true Viktor- food-loving, ridiculously over the top, and very,  _very_ much just within arm's reach- allowed himself to finally be seen. Yuuri loved Viktor, frighteningly so, and just the thought of the inevitable end, of letting him go, as right as it may be,  _killed him_. Dramatic as it may have sounded, Yuuri half-believed that he would die once Viktor leaves.

He laughed emptily to himself as he heard his mother's disapproving lecture from the back of his head.

He also felt a strong, painful kick to his hip, and cold, wet snow in his nostrils.  _'What the actual fu-'_

"Hey, Pig!"

 _'Figures,'_ Yuuri thought fondly, rolling onto his butt to face the angry, blonde boy. Pulling down his face mask, the Japanese man offered Yuri a small smile. "Hi, Yurio."

A bag was tossed onto his lap in response, causing Yuuri to raise an eyebrow at the young Russian skater. A blush spread across Yuri's face before he turned away. "You looked really pathetic, that's all!" He turned back to Yuuri, who was already inspecting the contents of the bag. "You flubbed your program today because the old man had to go back and check up on Makkachin; I, on the other hand, was at top form!" He sniffed confidently before his face soured. "But I still lost to JJ! You  _cannot_ be more upset than I am."

"Oh, wow,  _pirozhki_!" Yuuri exclaimed, standing up and dusting his back as he gazed at the bread, gaze softening at the boy who refused to take any credit for the act of kindness. "Thank you, Yurio; you did really well!"

He simply huffed. "Just wait until the Final; you better be at your best or I'll beat your ass!" The boy threatened, but all Yuuri could hear was his heartfelt encouragement. "Anyway, eat those  _pirozhki_ ; consider them a birthday present."

Nodding, Yuuri took one and dug his teeth into it, a mix of very familiar flavors assaulting his palate. "Wait..." He whispered, mouth full, as he glanced at the filling of his meal. "Rice, a pork cutlet, onions... it's a  _katsudon_?!"

Yuri beamed at his companion's belated reaction. "My Grandpa made it, isn't it great?"

'Yes, it's  _vkusno_!"

The two shared the bread and the silence, absently counting the passing cars as the sky darkened above. The Japanese skater was all for eating and not talking, but Yuri could barely keep his peace.

"What are you doing here, anyway? It's stupid cold and you'll get sick if you stay here for longer." The boy asked, voice devoid of actual bite. Yuuri turned to him and scratched the back of his head.

"I just needed to clear my head," He responded, hugging the paper bag close to his chest. He eyed Yuri with an olden gaze, taking in the boy's expression. "This has been my worst performance of my Free Skate yet, and I was only able to qualify because I scored well at my Short Program." The man paused as he leaned onto the steel again. "I've gotten so dependent on Viktor that the moment he's out of my sight, I'm back to being the third-rate skater I used to be."

Silence enveloped the two, and the lack of passing vehicles had made the companionship turn slightly more awkward.

Yuuri yelped, internally swearing as he felt a fist-shaped bruise forming on his arm, turning to the ill-tempered boy who'd just socked him. "Ow, Yurio! What was that for?"

"For being an idiot!" Yuri growled, hands in his jacket pockets. "Third-rate skater? That's what you think you are? What about all the others who scored lower than you? Are they just some crappy fucks  _who just so happened to qualify for one of the most prestigious international skating competitions_?!"

"N-no! Of course not."

"Then stop putting everyone else below you down, and pull yourself up, damn it."

Yuuri wasn't at all offended, a little more than guilty if he were honest, but he couldn't help it if the boy's crude words got to him. Far from his thoughts was to demean his competitors, after all. "Sorry, Yurio."

"Don't apologize to me; I'm above you, Pig."

"Right, sorry."

"What did I just say?!"

Laughter erupted from the older skater, making the younger one sulk against the metal fence. "Oh, can it, will you?" He muttered, turning to his red-faced companion. "And so what if you're dependent on the geezer? Your theme is 'love' isn't it?"

Yuuri didn't trust himself to speak; instead, he let the boy do all the talking. "You can't even deny it; Viktor looks at you like you  _created ice_ , and you look at him like he invented the pork cutlet bowl." The older man sniggered slightly at the comparison, earning a dirty look from Yuri. "Ha ha. Laugh all you want but I want you to know that both of you look disgusting and so damn domestic, you might as well just put a ring on him already."

Yuuri's eyes widened, like a veil was lifted from his face and a light bulb had suddenly turned on.  _That's it._

Yuri rolled his eyes. "God, I can't believe  _I_ gave you love advice. Just... just don't be gross about it, okay?" The boy looked away once more, finding the first passing car in the last half-hour mildly interesting. "And take care of him. The old man's forgetful as fuck and extra to boot; hell, when I came to Saint Petersburg, Yakov was already  _bald_ from all Viktor's antics. He's an asshole and annoys me to death, but," Yuri looked as if he were about to throw up, a grimace on his lips. "Shit, it's so hard to say." He looked at Yuuri, face flushed dangerously red. "The old man hears this and you're dead, got it, Pig?"

It was so bizarre all Yuuri could do was nod, and the other sighed in relief and resignation.

"As much as a fucker he may be, Viktor's been nothing but a brother to me; from the moment I stepped on Yakov's ice and until he stepped off it, the old man took me under his wing, looked beyond this less-than-manly exterior, and taught me how to make everything work in my favor." The boy looked down, and Yuuri swore that even the roots of his hair had gotten red from embarrassment; the older man wondered if he should even let Yuri continue. "I'm still mad at him for choosing you over me though, that asshat, but I'm glad he was able to find his match." The boy whipped his head up with an angrier-than-thou expression. "Finally, too, because he's getting  _ancient_ and soon he'll go bald and everyone will think he's an ugly fuck! You  _wanted_ this, Pork Cutlet Bowl; he's **_your_** problem now!"

Yuuri's chest constricted, a mix of warmth and cold intermingling with each other; there Yuri Plisetsky was, the harshest person he knew to date,  _worried_ about Viktor Nikiforov, a man he'd said no good word for as long as Yuuri could remember. It was fiercely endearing, how someone who threatened Viktor with physical harm on a regular basis actually cared more about the silver-haired skater's well-being than most; Yuuri's lip quivered as he imagined how  _fucked_ , for a lack of a more suitable word, he'd be when all's been said and done. He was about to offer Yuri a smile and a jab, when he realized what Yuri had said.

 _...but I'm glad he was able to find his match._ Yuuri's body went from cold to  _frigid_.

"W-wait. What do you mean match?" The Japanese man stammered, in turn catching Yuri off guard. The older man moved closer, albeit warily, placing his free hand on Yuri's shoulder. "D-did you see our marks?"

Realization caught up with Yuri, and the boy blanched, paling more, if it were possible. "I-I never saw! I s-swear!" The boy stuttered, looking at anywhere except Yuri. "I j-just assumed! Viktor had been so touchy and he  _kissed you on live television_. Viktor  ** _never_** kisses  _ **just anyone**_ on the lips!" Yuri seemed to have gotten a handle of his panic, breathing deeply before turning to the other man. "Besides, what are you two hiding for? You can announce it now so that the hopeful shmucks who think they're your matches would just stop dreaming already." The boy stopped talking when he noted how Yuuri's face contorted in horror, and Russian blonde immediately felt the weight of his statement. "Oh God. You and Viktor... you've never seen each other's marks, have you?!"

Yuuri could almost laugh at the innocence of Yuri's accusation, if the ferocity of the boy's words didn't shock him into complete silence. Instead, he let the blonde stride into his personal space, let him grab onto his collar, let him begin spewing his baseless claims until he was satisfied.

"That  _stupid_ ,  ** _stupid_** old man!"

_No, I'm the only fool here._

"What was he  **thinking**?! How long does he plan to drag this 'mystery' lover thing with you, huh?!"

_It's not his fault; he doesn't know._

"When I see him, oh he better run! I'll rip that motherfucker a new one-"

"Yurio,  _stop_."

Yuri let himself falter a moment before resuming his tirade. "No, Yuuri! Don't let him play around with you like this!"

"Yurio, please-"

"-just because he's your idol, he's the  _world's greatest skater_ ,"

"-listen to me, please-"

"-doesn't give him the right to play soulmate with  _anyone-"_

"-Yuri-"

"-God! And I thought he was  **better** than this-"

"-IT'S NOT HIS FAULT!"

What a sight it must have been, an Asian man and a Russian kid screaming at each other by the road; Yuuri was red-faced and his eyes were ready to break the dam, while Yuri had blanched once more, eyes widened in shock. They spent a few moments frozen in their respective positions, neither willing to talk nor move first. The snow, however, had begun to fall harder, and the older of the two decided that they should move back in the hotel, reaching for Yuri's hand. "Hey, let's go back in-"

_**SLAP!** _

"Don't you touch me."

The older skater pulled his smarting hand back to his chest, thankful for the gloves that took most of the blow. The younger simply stepped away, eyes narrowed and mouth formed into a snarl. "So both of you are playing around?" He spat, his hands closing into tight fists. Yuuri swore he felt the ice melt from the rage emanating from Yuri's small frame. "You two  _never_ considered that your matches, your soulmates, are out there, trying to figure out where the hell you are? And as if to rub salt in the wound, you  _fucking_ document your frolicking, as if you're some dumb sitcom that keeps spinsters on the edge of their seats!" He looked down, lashes trembling in anger as he squinted in frustration. "I guess I should have expected something like this from someone like Viktor Nikiforov."

"Yurio, no-"

"Shut up!" He growled, Yuuri wincing as he heard Yuri's voice crack. "I should have known that he was an egotistical bastard through and through." He paused, turning to the Japanese skater, tears threatening to escape the corners of his brown eyes. "And you. I  _respected_ you. I knew you were yellow, but you were supposed to be kind!"

One push was all it took for Yuuri to tumble down onto the thickened snow, the bag of  _pirozhki_ throwing its contents onto the cold, white fluff. "I guess you're not the man I hoped you were." The boy sneered, turning around to walk away. "I will  _destroy_ you at the Final; this time, do us all a favor and get rid of yourself for good."

"Yurio wait!" Yuuri screamed, hands feeling raw from the cold. The boy didn't look, but he did stop moving away, and for that, the dark-haired man was thankful. "P-please, you can blame me all you want, think as badly of me as you will." The tears in his eyes had fallen, making two streams on his cheeks feel like two bleeding cuts from a knife. "But Viktor's done nothing wrong. T-this isn't the right time, but I promise, you'll know soon enough. Please don't hate him."

An icy wind blew between them, and Yuri left him without a word.

Yuuri buried his face in his hands, weeping into the already damp material.

_Yakov stood up from the chair even when his talk with Yuuri was surely far from over. "I need to meet up with Yuri and Lilia; we're having dinner with his grandfather tonight." The old man told him, making his way to the door. "Vitya's already changed your boarding details; your ride to the airport will pick you up at eleven tonight for the one AM flight."_

_Yuuri nodded, staring at his hands, closing his eyes as he heard the door open.  "You're not a bad man, Yuuri Katsuki. I trust that you'd do the right thing."_

_The door closed on him, and the skater was alone in the dressing room, left with his neatly-packed sports bag. Yuuri sighed, thankful that Yakov had gone out of his way to clean up his things, before reaching into the bag to get his phone. After turning the mobile data on (finally, after keeping it off since the night before), Yuuri was bombarded with messages from Viktor, Phichit and Mari. His coach had most of the bulk of texts and chats, informing Yuuri that he was home and so was Makkachin, various encouragements and most recently, congratulations followed by points of improvement, as well as countless of selfies of the silver-haired man and a healthy-looking poodle. The man allowed himself a soft smile, opting to call Viktor after he'd responded to the other messages; he knew he'd be roped in a long-winded conversation once he started, and he wanted to make sure he gets back to everyone before he left for Hasetsu._

_Mari's texts were fewer, two messages containing 'good luck' and 'good job', and another telling him about a fan of his and her family visiting the_ onsen _for a vacation, adding that they'd checked out right after his Free Skate. "Strange." Yuuri thought, wondering if he knew the fan; it wasn't unheard of for people who knew him to visit their hot springs as his fan, but Mari usually gave more information than that. Shrugging it off, the skater moved on to the last message, which was an emoticon-infested text from Phichit, congratulating him with a promise to meet at the Final._

_He shot both Phichit and Mari a short reply, before turning his Messenger on to check if Viktor was online. It was still pretty early in the morning in Hasetsu, but Viktor had always been an early riser, walking Makkachin, having his daily jog and uploading a post-exercise selfie before 7:00am. Hoping for the best, the man tapped on Viktor's chat box._

**You** : Hi Viktor. Are you awake?

 _Yuuri waited, looking at the blue icon on the bottom right of Viktor's circular profile picture, indicating that he was on mobile, but didn't say if he was online. The man didn't have to wonder for too long, though, a soft_ **_ping!_ ** _resounding from his speakers._

 **Viktor Nikiforov** : Yuuri!

                           Yes, yes.

                           I'm getting ready for a jog.

                           Not taking Makkachin, though.

                           It's gotten cold.

                           Congratulations! But we need to talk about your performance!

_The skater almost laughed at his coach's trigger finger on the **send** button._

**You** : Oh, that's good. Hey, is now a good time to call?

_Viktor Nikiforov is typing..._

**Viktor Nikiforov** : Sure!

                           Just let me put on my earphones.

                           You don't mind if I jog while we talk?

 **You** : Of course not! Just call me when you're ready.

_A few minutes later, Yuuri's phone started vibrating, a candid shot of Viktor appearing on the screen._

**Viktor** is calling.

_"Hey, Viktor." Yuuri greeted, hearing the telltales of jogging from the soft huffs of air and the tapping of rubber soles onto the pavement. "How are you and Makkachin?"_

"Good evening Yuuri! Thank you for asking, Makkachin and I are doing great. You, however, need to tell me how  _you_ are doing."

_Yuuri laughed at Viktor's sing-song voice, relaxing at the familiarity of the situation. "Sorry, I didn't do as well as I should."_

"Nope, but it was good enough to advance. I watched all the footage of your Free Skates through this season, and I've already taken down some notes. We are going to have a  _long_ talk when you get back."

_Even if Viktor couldn't see him, the skater nodded obediently. "Right." A pause came between them, only the soft tapping of Viktor's shoes and the huffs from his lips punctuating their silence._

"Hey, Yuuri?"

_"Yeah?"_

"We need to make sure that you can skate even when I'm not physically there, okay?"

 _Yuuri's body went numb, his mind scrambling to dissect Viktor's words as fast as he could, as if to avoid an impending disaster. Was he leaving? Was this Viktor's way of saying goodbye?_ 'I'm not ready.'  _Yuuri thought as he scrunched his eyes closed, biting his lip and preventing a whimper from escaping._

 _Viktor, who apparently had developed clairvoyance towards Yuuri, spoke again._ "I need you to know that you are never without me."  _He whispered softly, the huffs and tapping suddenly inaudible, as if Viktor had stopped jogging altogether. "_ I'll always,  _always_ , be there for you. No matter what, Yuuri."

_"Y-yeah."_

"...are you okay?"

_"Just shaken." Yuuri lied, rubbing the forming tears from his eyes. "I did really bad today, didn't I? I'm sorry."_

"Oh Yuuri; I should have been there for you."

_"N-no! I was the one who made you go home in the first place!" Yuuri exclaimed, adamantly denying Viktor any blame. "Besides, I would have been even more restless if you weren't with Makkachin."_

_A soft chuckled tickled his ears._ "You are really too kind, Yuuri. I fear that someday, Makkachin would love you over his own master!"

_Yuuri couldn't even bring himself to humor him. "I-I'll make it up to you, okay? This wasn't a waste of time, Viktor; I'll show the world the fruits of your efforts."_

_A pause came between them._

"Our, Yuuri."

 _"Huh?_ _"_

"You tend to forget which one of us lays himself in front of the whole world on the ice." _The fondness in Viktor's voice didn't elude Yuuri._ "This is an individual sport, but we are a team. You may attribute the choreography and the coaching to me all you want, but never,  _never_ discredit your skill and talent as a skater and storyteller, because you are the one bringing these tales to life."

_Yuuri barely nodded, but it was hard not to believe it, coming from Viktor's mouth. "Thank you. I'll see you in a day, yeah?"_

"If only I could see you much sooner. Take care tonight, and I love you. Remember that."

_The Japanese skater choked before nodding, fully aware that his coach couldn't see him. "Y-yeah. Don't worry about me."_

***

Yuri stood in front of his grandfather's bathroom mirror in nothing but a pair of black briefs, staring at the small mark tainting his inner thigh. "What are you even for?" He seethed, narrowing his eyes as he ran a thumb over the sparkling image. "You're just a fucking dictator, aren't you? Forcing people together when they don't even  _love_ each other." He pinched the skin as hard as he could, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain he caused himself, hissing as he pulled his hand away. A bruise was definitely forming, but the mark remained untarnished. "You're nothing but a beautiful  **lie** , glossing over everybody you've shitted on.  _God_ , why do you even  _exist_!?"

In a fit of rage, the blonde boy brought a fist down to his thigh, a yelp of pain escaping his mouth. Looking down at his battered thigh through tear-pooled eyes, Yuri noticed red, fist-size beginnings of a bruise, but the mark appeared as if it were above it, still unscathed. The boy brought his fist down on it again. "Why."  _ **BAM.**_ "Won't." **_BAM._**  "You." _**BAM.**_  "Go." _**BAM.**_  "AWAY?!" He was about to bring it down a fifth time when a large, strong hand enclosed his much thinner wrist with a grip too firm for him to break free of.

"Yuratchka that is enough!"

The boy didn't know when he started crying, but he could recognize the blurry figure of his grandfather anywhere. Instantly, he'd thrown himself into the older man's arms, momentarily uncaring for Nikolai's back. "What on earth has gotten into you?" His grandfather asked softly, rubbing circles on Yuri's back.

"I-I don't know,  _Ded'ka_!" The boy cried, nuzzling Nikolai's jacket and taking in his scent, wetting the fabric with his tears. "I'm so,  _so_ confused!"

The man pulled Yuri closer. "Come to your bedroom with me; we'll have you dressed up and I'll look at the bruise, all right?"

Yuri didn't nod, but allowed himself to be helped out the bathroom and onto his bed, a shirt suddenly on his torso. He hissed once more when an ice pack was pressed against the purple skin. "It's cold."

The old man chuckled. "Helps with the bruising." Nikolai said, keeping the pack in place. "Do you want to let me see your mark?"

Yuri blushed. "Y-yeah, of course."

With a knowing smile, Nikolai raised the ice pack, revealing moist, bruised skin, and a pearl-colored lily in a single loose, black swirl. "What a beautiful mark you have, my son."

"I-It's girly!"

Nikolai laughed. "Why were you hurting yourself, Yuratchka? Are you unhappy?" He suddenly asked, voice careful, letting the boy unravel before him.

"I-I didn't want to hurt myself, really; I just wanted that stupid soul mark gone."

The older man shook his head. "The soul mark never goes away; why, back in World War Two, I've seen amputees who'd lost their marks with their limbs find the sparkling images on a different part of their bodies! It was nearly miraculous."

Yuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why do they want this so badly, anyway? It's not like it guarantees happily ever after." He muttered. Nikolai nodded, pressing the ice onto the bruise once more, placing Yuri's hand onto it to keep it there. Settling beside his grandson on the bed, the old man laced his fingers together in thought.

"No, no they do not." He said plainly, looking at Yuri's dust-infested desk at the end of the room. "Maybe long ago, when the people were fewer but love much, much harder to find, soul marks were priceless treasures. It was the Great One's way of helping his children find their fated ones without going through all the heartbreak that came with falling in love." Nikolai chuckled to himself, rubbing his old wedding ring. "But we grew plenty, and we grew curious."

Yuri watched the flicker of the hallway's light in his grandfather's eyes, as if there were a memory playing in his mind. He didn't miss how the old man rubbed his thumb over an old silver ring on his finger. "My great grandmother told me once that people stopped showing their marks because they wanted to meet other people, be 'unconfined by the laws of the universe', as they said." The man placed his hand on top of Yuri's. "But you know, these marks have quite the sense of humor; more often than not, couples who'd moved heaven and earth to be with each other and defy the soul matching actually had the same soul mark all along."

Yuri's eyebrows raised, before he scrunched his eyes close. "That's not always the case. That's not what I see."

Nikolai hung his head. "The world has changed, and the role destiny plays has become less significant to the people of today." The old man left Yuri's side momentarily, moving to the boy's drawer to take out a pair of sweatpants to give him. "Neither you nor I would ever understand the complexity of soulmates, why we have them, and why some cannot,  _will not_ work out." As Yuri slid on the soft material, wincing when the garter slapped against the bruise, his grandfather continued speaking. "But there is something that we  _do_ know about soul marks, something I think matters most of all."

"What would that be,  _Dedushka_?"

Nikolai sat beside his grandson once more, staring at the soft color of the room's wallpaper. "How do we receive our mark, Yuratchka?"

"When some random person, who apparently is our soulmate, falls in love."

The old man laughed at how skeptic Yuri's tone was. "Exactly. That is the most important thing of all."

"Huh? I don't follow."

Nikolai turned to his blonde grandson, gently placing his hands on the younger one's shoulders. "You learn that somewhere out there, despite how materialistic and hard to please the world has become, there is a person,  _a human being_ , that is capable of pure, sincere love."

"Even if it's not for you?"

The graying Russian closed his eyes, shaking his head with a knowing smile. "My child, love is nothing if it isn't given without expecting anything in return." Nikolai ran his hand over Yuri's golden hair, gently untangling the knots he ran into along the way. "Receiving a soul mark is and will always be the greatest proof of the existence of love; whether or not that love is for you, aren't you glad that you became its living testament?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading this installment! <3


	22. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all of you for reading this fic! All the kudos, bookmarks, comments, hits and theories(!!!) this has received had been nothing short of amazing. I'm very, very happy I got into this fandom; the collective love for the show, the characters and all that is YOI warms my heart and lets soar my soul.
> 
> Onto chapter 22, then :)

Viktor was different when Yuuri saw him through the glass walls of the Fukuoka Airport.

His hair was disheveled, eyes sunken with dark circles, and with creases on his forehead to top it all off. The silver-haired man wasn't even looking at the corridor where he was coming from, absently staring into a potted plant as he rested his hand on Makkachin's head (Yuuri had known the poodle had gotten better real fast, but seeing him alive and well was enough to put a smile on his face.) He'd never tell him, but Yuuri thought his coach aged a few years during the three days they've been apart, and he wondered if Makkachin took longer in recovery than he was told. Yuuri opted to stand in front of the glass wall for a bit more, observing Viktor, watching him do absolutely nothing but grow weary nonetheless.  _'What happened?'_ The Japanese man thought to himself, worry bubbling from the bottom of his stomach. Before he could delve deeper in his thoughts, Makkachin's ears perked up and the dog turned too him, immediately hopping towards the glass wall, pawing at it as he barked at Yuuri.

As startled as Yuuri was, he paled in comparison to Viktor: the man visibly jumped from his seat, eyes widening almost comically if it weren't for the frown on his lips, the look on his face sending mixed signals to the man on the other side of the glass. Slowly, Yuuri sped to the lobby entrance, Viktor mirroring his movements, until walking turned into jogging, the two men never failing to let each other's stare go. By the time Yuuri was about to make the turn to the entrance, the two had been running, the sight of Japan's ace and figure skating's living legend dashing across the lobby too bizarre for security to even try and keep them in check. Viktor and Makkachin simply planted themselves right in front of the entrance, the silver-haired man holding his arms out in a wide embrace, accepting the barreling skater into him as the smaller man held him tight. The brown poodle at his side pawed at their pants, yipping lightly as his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

Yuuri pulled away from Viktor, taking in the brilliant blues of his coach's eyes; the Japanese fondly thought to himself how unfair it was that despite the Russian's apparent stress, his orbs still held the luster of a newly-polished diamond, and when he smiled, his lips seemed to take a few years off his age.  _'You really are beautiful.'_ He thought, smiling to himself. "Welcome home, Yuuri." Viktor greeted softly, keeping his hands on Yuuri's arms, as if afraid that the smaller man would disappear.

"I'm home, Viktor."

The older of the two smiled fondly, finally letting go of his student and looking straight into his eyes. "Hey, Yuuri." He began, voice laden with hesitance, making worry creep under the Japanese man's skin. "I've been thinking on how I can go about being your coach from now on."

The shorter man couldn't help the twitch of his hand, which Viktor thankfully didn't catch. "O-oh." He stuttered, lips quivering.  _'Is... is he leaving?'_ Internally, Yuuri began to panic.  _'Did Yakov tell him?! No, Yakov said I should be the one to do so... did Yurio? No... he doesn't have proof either...'_ The man gulped, grasping the hem of his coat.  _'Just a little more time... please, God, just a little more time.'_ He prayed, abruptly pushing him forward in a bow. "Please take care of me until I retire!"

He didn't see Viktor's face, but the gasp his outburst elicited from him was hint enough of what the Russian was feeling. As he looked up and straightened his body, all Yuuri could see were resigned, olden eyes with a hint of fondness, like a parent who'd sacrificed all he had for his child, ready to give himself up some more. The Japanese man almost felt sick to his stomach.  _'I said the wrong thing.'_ He cried internally, feeling his facade break as his coach took his hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss.

"Wow," Viktor chuckled, lacking all the mirth he usually had. "That sounds just like a marriage proposal."

There was something  _wrong_ with Viktor. Yuuri wasn't the most perceptive of people, but he had somewhat developed a sixth sense when it came to his coach; he was about to ask when the Russian forced a smile on his face, a look of acceptance. The Japanese crumpled immediately, strong enough only to mirror Viktor's broken grin. Unable to look any longer, Yuuri dove back into his coach's arms, grasping at him like a lifeline, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when all Viktor did was return the hug with equal ferocity.  _'Just a bit more time...'_

"I wish you'd never retire."

Yuuri stiffened, frozen by the desperation and sincerity in Viktor's wish.  _'No.'_ He thought, feeling the older man's hold on him loosen, Yuuri immediately burying his face into his chest, as if to prolong the hug. Viktor chuckled, tightening his hold once more.  _'I'm so sorry, Viktor.'_

***

Viktor insisted that they take the train, even when a car would have brought them home faster. The man only smiled at him tiredly, placing Makkachin in the carrier he came in (the train wouldn't have allowed him on otherwise), and taking out a relatively new train pass. He brandished it in front of Yuuri, showing  **VIKTOR NIKIFOROV** punched onto the card.

"I have my own train pass now! I even loaded it for convenience!"

Yuuri saw every little crack in his smile, every little quiver of his lips, and he nearly lost it when he caught Viktor's wistful gaze when the man thought he wasn't looking. The train ride was an hour and a half long, and it only took ten minutes for the Japanese man to break the silence. Boldly, Yuuri took the older man's hand in his, startling him with the gesture. "Yes, Yuuri?"

"Is there something wrong?"

Viktor faltered and looked away, resting his head on his palm. He squinted and sighed, as if he were trying to word his thoughts properly, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. Slowly, the man offered Yuuri a small smile, another one of those resigned grins Yuuri was starting to hate, or fear. "Ah, am I that obvious? Wow, I used to hide myself so well." Viktor quipped, brushing his bangs back with his fingers, glancing at Yuuri from the corner of his eye. "Would you believe me if I told you that I'm scared to death that you'd lose the GPF?"

Yuuri didn't even blink. "No."

A loud, pitiful chuckle escaped Viktor's lips, the Russian wiping tears from his eyes. " _Bozhe moi_ , I've gotten so predictable now, haven't I?" He laughed, opening one eye as if to observe his student, who kept his wide, brown eyes on him. With a shake of his head, Viktor placed a comforting hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "Don't worry,  _solnyshko_ ; I'm just sorting things out, there were just so many things that happened in such a short amount of time." He shook his head, squeezing the soft fabric under his palm. "I'm sorry, this is very un-coach-ly of me; I promise everything will be as they were tomorrow."

Yuuri had had enough. Slowly but surely, the younger man grasped Viktor's hand, moving closer into his space, their noses nearly touching. "If something's bothering you, don't brush it under the rug!" Yuuri said, voice nearly cracking. "You always say that you're here for me no matter what, that I can tell you anything; well, I'm the same for you." The dark-haired man paused, forcing himself to look into Viktor's wide, blue eyes. The man offered no sidestepping comments, no wholehearted acceptance, no shameless flirting; Viktor, for the very first time, let out a bitter laugh. Yuuri's heart began to crack.

The silver-haired man looked at him, the attempt to look kind and loving  _so painfully forced_ that Yuuri wanted to gorge his eyes out just so he wouldn't see. "I did say that, didn't I?" Viktor said no louder than a whisper, clamping his eyelids shut, as if to banish a particularly excruciating headache. He continued to speak, voice nearly inaudible, as if he didn't want Yuuri to hear. He did anyway. " _Can_ you tell me _anything_ , Yuuri?"

They spoke no more, and all that kept Yuuri company was the sound of his heart breaking piece by painful piece.

***

Mari did not talk to him. Hell, she didn't even look at him when he entered their home. When Yuuri tried to reach out to her, his older sister simply moved to the female hot springs to clean up, leaving the man and his coach at the banquet hall.

"I'm sure you're tired." Viktor said, placing a hand on Yuuri's shoulder as he plastered that sad smile he'd been wearing the entire day on his face. The Russian took the shorter man's luggage, pulling it towards the bedroom hall. Unsure of what to do, the Japanese skater walk-jogged to Viktor's side, gently putting his hand on bag, keeping his eyes on his shoes, just to avoid looking at his coach's face. "Yes, Yuuri?"

"I-I can carry this! You can rest too." He answered, tugging at the handle gently. A hand on his head temporarily halted his pulling, but Yuuri still did not look up.

" _Solnyshko_ , let me do this for you at the very least." Viktor pleaded, the tiredness more evident in his voice when he wasn't distracting Yuuri with his face. "Don't worry about me all right? I'll be okay. More than okay, since you're here now."

The skater dug his face into the Russian's chest, inhaling Viktor's scent. It smelled like home. Yuuri wrapped his hands around his torso tightly, as if Viktor would disappear if he didn't hold onto him. "Are you okay?" He asked, nuzzling his coach's clavicle. More shyly, he added, "Are we okay?"

Two strong arms immediately enveloped Yuuri's frame, the bag losing balance and falling to the floor with a  _bang_. The Japanese skater didn't care about it, couldn't bring himself to do so yet, not when Viktor had held him flush against his body, Yuuri slightly bent as the taller man hunched into his neck. "Of course we are!" Viktor choked, pressing his nose against Yuuri's neck. "I'm so sorry, I'm worrying you. Don't fret, okay? I'll sort myself out, then I'll tell you." The silver-haired man pulled back, keeping Yuuri's torso pressed against his. " _Ya tebya lyublyu, solynshko, milaya moya._ " He ran his hand against the shorter man's hair, before pulling it back to cup his face. Yuuri swam in the shimmering blues of Viktor's eyes, unsure if he were basking in the man's affection, or dissecting his soul to find the problem.

 **_"Acchi itte yo._ ** **"**

Viktor turned to Mari's indifferent scowl, but the woman's gaze fell harshly on her brother. Yuuri's face twisted in worry as the ice of his sister's glare cut cleanly into him. "Marineechan? What's going on?"

The woman did  _not_ want to speak in English that moment. " _Naze, Yuuri?_ " She growled, effectively cutting Viktor off from the conversation. The Russian helplessly gazed at the siblings, tired from the commute and concerned with the tension between brother and sister. " _Shiteiru. **Usotsuki.**_ "

"What's going on...?"

 _"_ _Tanomu kara! Hanashi wo kiite."_

 _"Hanashi o **shimasuka**_ _?_ "

Yuuri bit his lip as Viktor helplessly watched the volley of Japanese. The man was learning, bit by bit, but there was only so much he could understand. The feelings, tension and expressions, however, Viktor understood very well. Slowly, he reached out to Mari, only to be shut down by another terrifying glare. "This is between Yuuri and I." It seemed as if she had tried to sound kinder to the Russian, but the ferocity of her exchange with Yuuri had lingered. Turning to her brother, Mari ended their conversation with a sneer. " _Mata atode do hanaso._ "

What shocked Yuuri more was how Viktor shook his head in desperate frustration, squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, before running after his sister. "Marichan, please-" Viktor pleaded as they turned the corner, and the Japanese skater could listen no longer. "What is happening?" He asked himself, shakily grabbing his bag and pulling it to his room. Sitting on his bed, Yuuri tried to make sense of things.

"W-why did she call me a liar?" Yuuri wondered out loud, voice shaking from an unknown fear. Slowly, the man grasped his arms, feeling uncut nails digging into his skin from the thick jacket he had on.  _'Did she know?! That's impossible; the artist... he'd never tell. And he's way into the city!'_  Yuuri thought, immediately bolting up, running to the bathroom, and locking himself in. Haphazardly, the skater pulled down his pants, only enough to show two securely-placed  _kizuna engo_. "She couldn't have known," He breathed, pulling off both plasters with an uninhibited scream. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain, angry, red rectangles staring him back in the face, the two marks undamaged but surrounded by swollen flesh.

_"Yuuchan? Are you in there?"_

Yuuri froze, the voice of his mother laden with worry. "I-I'm fine! Just pulled a plaster off too fast." He said, and it wasn't entirely untrue.

_"Oh, did you break skin? Do you need the first aid kit?"_

"I-I got it! I'm sorry!" He shouted back, hoping that his mother would leave him alone. He should have known otherwise.

_"I'll come in, okay?"_

"Mom, no-"

Yuuri's face blanched, hand clumsily flying to the handle of the door but missing the twisting knob, the concerned face of Hiroko coming into view not shortly after. The worry stayed on her features until her eyes met with the marks on his hips, surprise clouding her eyes that instant as she covered her mouth with both her tiny hands. "M-Mom, I-I can explain." Yuuri stammered, and really he should have laughed at himself, because there was no way he could explain  _two soul marks_ without breaking his mother's image of him.

Hiroko silently closed the door behind her, making sure to lock it, as she kept her eyes downcast. The petite woman looked up at her son a few times, opening her mouth as if to say something, but never did she pull through, opting to hold her place against the door. To stop Yuuri from running out, or for an easy way to run out herself, the woman refused to think.

"Mom, please, say something." Yuuri begged, pulling up his pants and retreating to the dry bathtub. By accident, the man slipped, hit the knob for cold water and fell into the tub.

_"Yuuri!!!"_

***

_I love you, Yuuri._

"W-what...?" Yuuri mumbled, feeling as if he were floating, hands and feet oddly warm and numb. The man tried to kick his legs awake, but it seemed as if they were set to disobey him, staying perfectly still. After a futile attempt to wave his arms, the man let out a strangled cry of frustration. "M-move, damn i-it!"

The familiar slinking movement along his body froze him, the icy tendrils a stark difference to the warm numbness of his limbs. "H-huuh...?" He managed to breathe out, the feeling of hair-like material wrapping around his neck. Yuuri tried to gulp down his fear, but the grip on his neck tightened, and the man could only let out a choked whisper.  _'Help me!'_

A hand was on his face, but the terrified skater could see neither the limb nor the person it was connected to; the paleness of its skin, the long, slender fingers attached to it, and the ice-slashed callouses on its palms, however, were more than enough for Yuuri to piece whom it belonged to. "V-Vik'tr..." He choked, tears welling up in his eyes. The hand caressed his cheek gently, lovingly, before he felt the sudden sting of a slap. The man's eyes widened, tear-stained cheek flushed (more from surprise than pain, as Yuuri unconsciously noted that the slap was no stronger than a tap) as he tried to jerk his head from side to side, looking for the familiar hand. Another slap, slightly harder, met his cheek. "Urgh...?" Yuuri whimpered, the tendrils around his neck already too constricting for him to move his tongue and lips, his head feeling awfully light, and his eyelids feeling terribly heavy.

As he relinquished his will to fight it, Yuuri let his eyes close, finally, ready to succumb to the darkness.

Until, that is, a much harder slap assaulted his already smarting cheek, the force enough for his eyes to shoot open, and for the tendrils to slither away.

**_Yuuri!_ **

***

Everything was wet, and his head hurt like hell.

Yuuri didn't want to open his eyes yet, feeling the aching throb at the back of his eyes, as if the pain was daring him to wake up. He scrunched his eyes closed tighter, despite the discomfort damp clothes gave him. The next thing he noted was that he could kinda 'see' movement above him, what with figures blocking the light every now and then, the sound of fuzzy murmuring of varying volumes making no sense to him as he tried so desperately to block them out. The last thing that Yuuri noticed- the same thing that got his eyes to open- was the warm arms that held him so an even warmer chest, and the forehead that pressed affectionately against his. When he opened his eyes, the Japanese man jumped in his captor's arms, letting out an ungodly scream as the terrifyingly familiar silver tendrils came into view, the wispy threads resting on his cheek.

"Yuuri! It's all right, you're all right!"

The arms around him held him tighter, closer, despite the dark-haired man putting all his voice, strength and willpower into breaking away.

"It's okay Yuuri!  _Solnyshko_ , it's me!"

Finally he stilled, closed his eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. The silvery curtain of hair was still there, but behind him were Viktor's brilliant, blue eyes, glistening with worried tears that would never fall. Yuuri gulped, reaching out a violently shaking hand to run his water-wrinkled finger against the Russian's pale cheek, his thin, soft lips and back up to his silver bangs. "T-thank God it's y-you." Yuuri managed to cough out, closing his eyes as he pressed his head weakly against the crook of Viktor's neck, a hand moving to support his head not long after. "W-what happened?"

"You fell! Tub had little water!" Came his mother's broken voice in her stilted English, most likely in consideration of Viktor. "I am not strong; I am not carry Yuuri. Shout to Vicchan and he can carry Yuuri!" The man opened his eyes and weakly turned to his mother's ashen face, her normally tanned skin pale with fear. Yuuri blanched.

His mother saw his soul mark, and the fake one he had tattooed on himself.

He remembered how her face contorted from worry and the surprise. He remembered looking away so that he wouldn't catch her disappointment.

He remembered flinching away, farther and farther from her, until all he could see were the silver tendrils that kept on professing their love to him in Viktor's voice.

As Yuuri was about to speak, panic evident in his eyes, his mother quickly shook her head, placing a small hand onto her son's damp hair. "Okay desu, Yuuchan? Are you not hurt?"

 _'Why do you still care for me?!'_   Yuuri thought, but he lamely nodded, turning back to Viktor who still kept his arms around him. "I'm sorry." The older man shook his head, mirroring Hiroko's worried smile.  _'Why are you both still smiling?!'_

"I'm just happy you're all right." The Russian said, turning to Hiroko and sparing her a small but charming grin. " _Shinpai shinaide; daijobu desu._ "

Silence engulfed them, Viktor suddenly feeling self-conscious at the usage of the language, while the two native speakers gawked at him in disbelief.

" _A, Vicchan sugoi!_ _"_ Hiroko blurted out, eyes wide, a laugh escaping her covered mouth. " _B ikuri shita!"_

Viktor had the decency to blush. " _Gomenasai, wakarimasen._ " He beamed, making Hiroko laugh louder as he turned bashfully to Yuuri, who gave him a confused look. "I ran out of Japanese, okay?"

Yuuri couldn't even smile.

"Oh, Vicchan, you go Yuuri _no_ room now, okay?" Hiroko said fondly, patting the Russian on the head, who nodded to her as he began to stand up. "I bring miso soup in small time. Go, go!"

The strong arms around his body shifted, one under his knees and another around his back, Yuuri too surprised to react when Viktor hoisted him up, bridal-style.  _'Oh Vicchan!'_ Yuuri heard his mother exclaim in the background, followed by a giggle. Viktor simply beamed at him, proud of his small accomplishment. "Relax, Yuuri; I won't drop you." He said as he made his way out of the door, stopping when Hiroko suddenly called to his son. The smaller man peered above Viktor's shoulder, feeling heat behind his eyes as he noted the sad yet accepting smile his mother had on her face.  _'No, not now, not now.'_ Yuuri thought, closing his eyes to prevent the tears from falling.

_"Nyakunande, Yuuchan. Wakarubai."_

Yuuri's heart shuddered and his body shook, but the man simply pressed his dampen lashes against the fabric over Viktor's chest as the man walked away from the bathroom, suddenly hyper aware that there was no patch over his soul mark once more. " _Solnyshko_ , relax a bit, you might fall if you're this stiff." Came his coach's gentle voice. Instead of doing as he were told, the smaller man lowered one foot to the floor, followed by the other when Viktor got the hint; the worry on his face, however, stayed as Yuuri finally looked him in the eye. "Are you sure, Yuuri? You fell into the tub; does it feel sore anywhere?"

"N-no, I think the tub mat was able to cushion me well." Yuuri lied, immediately feeling a bruise forming on his left shoulder blade, moving on his own finally letting him feel his body. "I'm sorry; I've been here an hour and I'm already a problem."

The silver-haired man shook his head. "You are never a problem." Viktor enclosed Yuuri's hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. "Do you want to talk to me, Yuuri?"

Yuuri felt his heart jump to his throat. "O-oh, about my abysmal skating, I guess."

A flash of hurt glinted across Viktor's eyes, and it was gone, replaced by one of the man's interview smiles. "Then we have a lot to talk about." He chuckled emptily, running a hand through his hair. "We'll talk tomorrow; I promise you, you'll need as much sleep as you can get."

***

**Sandre D. is now online.**

Viktor raised his eyebrow and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, checking his Skype contacts once more. "Huh, he's online finally." The man mused, clicking on Lysandre's icon, eager to reconnect with his old friend.

_Sandre D. is typing..._

What Viktor didn't expect was for the man to reach out to him first.

 **Sandre D.** : Vitya?

 **V. Nikiforov** : Salut, Sandre! Ça va?

 **Sandre D.** : Ça va bien, merci. Et toi?

Viktor choked on his spit and ended up in a coughing fit, mixing laughter with his attempts to clear his throat. No, he was not okay, but he and Sandre hadn't spoken in nearly a year- both their faults, really- so Viktor wasn't about to bare his heart to the Frenchman.

 **V. Nikiforov** : Très bien! A quoi dois-je le plaisir?

 **Sandre D.** : Puis-je t'appeler?

 **V. Nikiforov** : Bien sûr.

The Russian immediately put his earphones on, answering Lysandre's call with video, glad that the man had called with his camera on as well. On the other side was his old friend, looking oddly more relaxed than he remembered from Stéphane's photos. In the background was what Viktor could still recognize as Lysandre's office-cum-bedroom, the dangerously placed, wall-mounted bookshelves above his friend's bed still giving him the chills. "Hello Sandre! It's very nice to see you; you're looking much better than the photos!"

The brunette laughed, the twinkle in his dark green eyes evident. _"Did I look that bad?"_ Sandre quipped, covering his mouth as he chuckled. _"Not everybody can be as handsome as you, Vitya. Though, coaching must be truly difficult; are those dark circles under your eyes?"_

The silver-haired man, taken aback, spied himself from his webcam's feedback, noting indeed that he looked worse for wear. With a dramatic flair, Viktor threw his head back, resting the back of his hand on his forehead. "Say it isn't so! I'm following Yakov's footsteps!"

More laughter erupted from his laptop's speakers. _"I wouldn't go that far."_ Lysandre drawled, leaning back into his armchair. _"You generally look happier, though; I may or may not have been lurking your social media accounts during my self-imposed SNS exile."_

**_"Which was very irresponsible and childish of you."_ **

Viktor tried not to be too excited when he heard a certain Swiss' voice in the background, face cracking into a full-blown smile when said Swiss peeped from the side. "Wow! Fancy meeting you here Chris!" He laughed, earning a flying kiss from the half-blonde man.

_"Fancy indeed; I am partly living here, you know."_

The Russian's jaw dropped, arms vibrating with giddiness as Chris placed an arm around Sandre.  _"Oh, and if you're_ still _wondering,- heavens forbid that you are, you oblivious pup- Sandre and I are back together."_

If anyone complained about the loud, French cheering from the second floor, Viktor would have owned up to it before any claim was made.

"That's wonderful news!" The man exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly. "You two are simply perfect for each other. No one- except you two, of course, and maybe Stéphane- is happier than I." Chris nodded, turning to Lysandre with soft eyes. As the two men gazed at each other lovingly, Viktor couldn't help but coo at them. "So, am I going to hear the love story of 2016, or did you just need a witness to your undying love?"

Viktor might as well have resigned himself to sleeping outside the next day, considering how loud he laughed after Lysandre chucked a rolled up piece of paper against their webcam. The man was, for the first time that night, grateful that Makkachin had chosen Yuuri's room to sleep in that night.

_"You are so loud, Coach Viktor! What time is it there?"_

"Nearly one in the morning, actually." Viktor responded, a yawn punctuating his sentence. "Don't mind me; my body clock's still whacked from going to Russia." He smiled again, resting his head on his hand. "Does Stéphane know?"

Lysandre nodded. "You're the second person we told." He said, glancing at Chris, who nodded to him. _"This may also be a bit sudden, but we've decided to change our Barcelona trip. Would you be all right with flying to Paris instead? You definitely do not need it, but I insist that I sponsor your board and travel."_ The couple shared a mischievous look, before Lysandre added. _"Yuuri too, of course."_

"How gallant!" Viktor exclaimed, jokingly adding, "Thank you; shall I wear a a black suit and bring my three-page Best Man speech as well?"

The Swiss and the Frenchman's eyes widened, faces paling as the two shared a look of shock, one which found itself on Viktor's face the moment he realized that his joke, well, wasn't. " _Bozhe moi_ , you are getting married?!"

Lysandre looked sheepish, while Chris held an air of mock-annoyance.

 _"If you could have held off that smart mouth of yours for ten more seconds, Viktor Nikiforov, maybe those who_ are _getting wed may have had the pleasure of inviting their Man of Honor to the ceremony."_ The Swiss sniffed, pushing out a plush lower lip as he tried to stifle his laughter. Lysandre rolled his eyes and poked his lover's cheek.

_"What do you say, Vitya? Would the Living Legend be able to pen us in his busy schedule to be our Man of Honor next month?"_

"Of course!" The man responded, almost too eagerly, but he didn't care about that. "What a busy time you chose though, Chris."

_"It's no big deal; I was planning on taking a break next season anyway."_

The smile that found itself on Viktor's lips were too wistful for his tastes. "Ah, our generation has gotten this old, yes? Does Josef know?"

 _"He's the one who insisted on it, actually, though we haven't told him yet."_ Chris supplied, carding his fingers through Lysandre's hair.  _"Let it not be said that I would be taking a break from the ice; I still do have a couple of ice shows I'd be part of next year."_

"Not one of us can be away from the ice from too long, after all." Viktor agreed, turning to Lysandre. "I am truly happy for you two. Congratulations! I am merely speaking in this modulated voice of mine in consideration to Yuuri's family and their guests, but in my mind I am already doing back flips in ecstasy." The Russian shifted his position, yawning as he rested his head on his other palm. "Tell me how it happened! Why did you break up in the first place, if you don't mind my asking?"

Chris sighed dreamily, reaching for his shoulder blade.  _"Remember when we all thought that my match was either dead or had no heart?"_ He began, hand still uncomfortably on his shoulder blade.  _"Well, turned out, they are very much alive, and very much able to love, and after nearly twenty five long years, I finally received my soul mark."_

The Swiss said it with much distaste, but Viktor couldn't help but understand him; Chris had lived believing that his soulmate must've died or was celibate and from the church, the bareness of his body his ticket to loving whomever, whenever. When the Russian introduced Lysandre to him, the Frenchman was still married to the then ailing Dominique, but VIktor had suspicions that even then, Chris had loved the brunette. Before he could think any more, the man was pulled back to their call by Chris' words.

 _"Whoever caused this mark, he'd already missed out;_ _regardless of what people believe, we were most likely never meant to be."_ The Swiss said, putting two arms protectively around Lysandre.  _"Bless Nikki's soul, I hope she finally rests in peace. Her soulmate is in the good hands of his husband-to-be, and I love him just as fiercely as she did."_

The brunette looked at his fiancé, cupping Chris' face with his hand.  _"You're wonderful."_ He murmured, but it was loud enough for Viktor to hear and coo over.  _"You remember my mark, don't you, Vitya?"_

"How could I not? Nikki had an artist's rendition of it framed at your house."

The three men laughed, Lysandre informing them that the photo had been buried with his wife. Viktor jogged his memory, the image of a bright gold sun with eight rays with a black fleur-de-lys on both sides coming to mind.  _"Well, my symbol resembles it quite a bit."_  Chris said, pulling his hand from his back. _"Now I know we've all agreed not to show the mark until our soulmates come, but I don't think that applies to me anymore."_  The half-blonde man paused, hesitance expressed through his eyes. _"As my Man of Honor, my best friend, would it be all right for you to be the fourth and hopefully last person who'd see my unrequited soul mark?"_

Viktor gulped, before nodding solemnly. "It would be an honor, Chris."

Nodding to him, Chris turned around, pulling his wide-necked sweater off his shoulder, sporting a silicon patch on his left shoulder blade.  _"Sandre, if you please."_

***

All things considered from what happened the day before, Yuuri did not expect Viktor standing outside his bedroom door, radiating like a sun, his warmth nearly enough to banish the cold from the upcoming winter. He also did not expect being kissed fully on the mouth by the excitable Russian, Yuuri's morning breath be damned. "V-Viktor! I haven't brushed my teeth yet!" The Japanese man stammered, trying to break free from his coach's hug. "And how long have you been standing out here? You could have knocked or come in, you know."

"I wanted to practice my ninja moves on you, Yuuri!" Viktor sang, cuddling the man's head with his. Yuuri awkwardly rubbed the Russian's back, still very unsure as to what was happening. Another kiss was pressed against his head as his coach finally let him go. "Now I know that I promised we'd have an early start today, but I've just received great news last night, and I think we should celebrate!"

 _'Last night?'_ Yuuri wondered, finally understanding all the strange yelps and French exclamations he thought he just imagined the midnight before. "What happened?"

The grin on Viktor's face widened, and Yuuri was slightly concerned that his lips might rip at the corners. "Chris is getting married!" He announced excitedly, like a child on Christmas day. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Oh wow, really? That is great news!" Yuuri responded, fully awake, excitement suddenly running through his sleepy veins. "When is it?"

Viktor took out his phone, opening his email to show Yuuri an attachment from Chris' email. "He already sent me the soft copy, but he'll give out the formal invitation in Barcelona." The man said. Yuuri smiled as he took the phone in his hand to read the letter better, which was thankfully in English.

_You are cordially invited to witness the union of_

_**Lysandre Louis Desrosiers** and  **Christophe Giacometti**_

Below the cursive, violet text was a picture of Chris and his fiancé, a kind-looking brunette with deep, forest green eyes. "You remember Sandre, don't you?" Viktor said, pointing to the man. "He was an ice dancer, though he retired the year you started Seniors, so I don't think you've formally met. He's part of the small group of friends I have with Chris."

Yuuri nodded turning to his coach. "That's really nice, marrying one of your friends." He said thoughtfully, spying the date on invitation. "Wow, it's on Christmas Eve!"

Viktor laughed. "Sandre said it was so that they'd get to celebrate my birthday with us; to be honest, with how busy we've become, I think the last time I've celebrated my birthday with Chris and the others was when I turned eighteen."

"Wait, us?"

Viktor shut his mouth right away. "Um, yes, us." He said awkwardly, running his finger across his phone's screen to show Yuuri the rest of the scanned invitation.

                                                                _For my wonderful Man of Honor, Viktor Yakovevich Nikiforov, and fellow figure skater, Katsuki Yuuri_

_We have reserved two (2) seats for you._

"Ah!" The shorter man exclaimed, blushing. "I-I didn't think Chris would invite me as well." He added shyly, looking up at Viktor's triumphant grin.

"Of course he'd invite you, Yuuri! He considers you a friend and rival, you know." The silver-haired man said, receiving his phone back from his student. "I'll let you freshen up a bit, okay? We're going out to Fukuoka right after breakfast!" As if to support his whim, Viktor flashed Yuuri the train card he so proudly brandished the day before before he rounded the corner, down to the banquet hall of the inn.

Finally, Yuuri's smile fell, a look of dread and confusion mixing on his face, perfectly mirroring the fear brewing in the pit of his stomach. "What _is_ going on here?" He whispered to himself, making his way to the bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more Japanese and French here, and I am fluent in neither, but Google translate and language forums had been my friends. XD Feel free to point out any mistakes, and I'll change it right away!
> 
> Acchi itte yo - Get out of my way  
> Naze - Why  
> Shiteiru - I know  
> Usotsuki - liar  
> Tanomu kara! Hanashi wo kiite - Please! Listen to me.  
> Hanashi o shimasuka - Will you talk?  
> Mata atode do hanaso - We'll talk later.  
> Shinpai shinaide; daijobu desu - Don't worry; it's okay.  
> A, Vicchan Sugoi! Bikuri shita! - Amazing, Vicchan! What a surprise!  
> Gomenasai, wakarimasen - Sorry, I don't understand  
> Nyakunande, Yuuchan. Wakarubai - (my crappy attempt at Saga-ben) Don't cry, Yuuchan. I understand.
> 
> French (Please correct me if these are badly researched phrases, I only had Google Translate and some forums >.>)  
> Salut, Sandre! Ça va? - Hello, Sandre! How are you?  
> Ça va bien, merci. Et toi? - I'm good, thank you. And you?  
> Très bien! A quoi dois-je le plaisir? - Very good! To what do I owe the pleasure?  
> Puis-je t'appeler? - May I call you?  
> Bien sûr. - Certainly.
> 
> Thank you again RippedApart for righting my French. You're gold! <3


	23. Foreigner's Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yatai - open air food stalls  
> Gaijin - foreigner  
> Konbanwa! Ima, aitemasu ka? - Good evening! Are you open now?  
> Yokatta! Ikayaki onegaishimasu! - Great! Grilled squid, please!  
> Mata? Maa maa, Vicchan wa ikayaki ga totemo suki desu ne! - Again? My, my, you really like grilled squid, don't you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :)
> 
> This chapter was actually research-heavy, despite how little content actually made it into writing, considering all the pages about Nakasu I've poured myself over. XD
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Mari still wasn't talking to him, despite the promise that they'd speak. When Yuuri had tried to greet her that morning, his sister simply glared at him and disappeared into the kitchen once more. He didn't have time to run after her when Toshiya sat him down for breakfast. "Don't mind your sister, she'll come around." He told his son, obviously wanting nothing more but to avoid the brewing conflict. Yuuri, as much as he'd like to know, nodded obediently and waited for his mother to bring in breakfast. Looking around, the man noted a few guests who were chatting away, but he paid them no mind as he searched for a familiar head of silver. Despite spying him bound for the banquet hall, the man was nowhere to be seen and Yuuri was a tad bit worried.

"Where's Viktor?" Yuuri asked his father, who looked up from his newspaper and tea.

"Ah, now that you mentioned it, he ran down here half an hour ago, talking in French." Toshiya laughed into his cup. "That boy is so energetic! Is he really twenty seven?"

Yuuri just smiled, finding his coach's antics amusing but still innocuous enough to prevent him from knowing where Viktor was. The mystery ended soon enough, however, when the man in question exited the kitchen, wearing a simple blue apron while carrying a tray of bowls of rice, miso soup and grilled squid. " _Ohayou_ ,  _Toshiya-san, Yuuri_!" The Russian greeted, setting down the food and sitting beside his student. "Your mother is an excellent cook and she'd given  me the pleasure of being her apprentice today and I think I'm getting the hang of Japanese cuisine!"

Yuuri was about to point out that grilling squid and steaming rice wasn't really the what made Japanese food stand out, but he wasn't an asshole; Viktor visibly  _shone_ with pride at his accomplishment, and the skater was not going to be a wet blanket. "Wow! There's a lot of squid today!" Yuuri turned to his father, who'd said his thanks and was pulling out his chopsticks to start eating. "It's gotten very cold; where did you get the squid?"

Toshiya took a while to answer, constructing his sentence well. "Ah, Guchi _-san_ has friend from Iwami. Good guy visited the day before yesterday, gave congratulations squid for you." The man enunciated slowly, not an ounce of hesitance in his voice; Yuuri felt pride swell up in his chest at how much his family's English had improved ever since Viktor had arrived. "Come Yuuri, Vicchan. Eat." The elderly man invited, turning back to his meal. Viktor nodded, taking his chopsticks and stirring his steaming miso soup with them, an action Yuuri raised his eyebrow at, but nonetheless proceeded to eat.

" _Itadakimasu_."

The men ate in perfect silence, the soft clinking of polished wood on ceramics the only sound that accompanied the soft murmurs from the banquet television. If he tried, Yuuri could hear Makkachin's soft yips from outside, but just barely, and it wasn't much of a distraction. The silence was deafening, especially since he found it dangerous to be left alone with his own thoughts; the Japanese skater tried to block the unwelcome thoughts oozing from the darker corners of his mind, settling on watching Viktor instead. Upon getting a good look, Yuuri figured that it was not  _just settling_.

His silver hair had been brushed back and kept there by a red headband (Mari's, no doubt), the sweat on his brow glistening nearly magically, which was unfair, considering sweat wasn't supposed to look so good. Viktor's peach lips had a sheen to them, most likely from sipping his soup; Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly thinking that his coach didn't kiss him enough that morning.  _'Bad Yuuri!'_ He berated himself as he hastily devoured his grilled squid, belatedly noting that Iwami may rival their produce.

"Slow down, Yuuri! You'll get indigestion." Viktor joked, turning back to his soup and stirring it once more. The younger Japanese man raised his eyebrows at his coach's strange behavior.

"Why do you keep on doing that?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"That." Yuuri pointed out, pointing at Viktor's handiwork. The Russian looked at him, confused, before picking up a seaweed-covered tofu cube and eating it.

"I wanted the tofu."

Yuuri hid a chuckle behind his sleeve, something mirrored by his father. "Vicchan, no, that not good." Toshiya quiped, covering his mouth with his hand. "Look like you think soup is dirty!"

Viktor suddenly turned a few shades redder. "Oh God, did I just insult the dead!?" He asked worriedly. "I swear I read  _all_ the chopstick etiquette!"

Father and son laughed harder, causing the flustered Russian to mellow down his color, ultimately joining two men. "What? You got to tell me if I'm insulting your great aunt, twice removed, Yuuri!" He cried, earning more laughter from the two, especially after Yuuri had translated Viktor's words to his father, causing the man in question to pout. "How mean!"

As they continued to laugh, Mari entered the room, carrying newly cleaned bowls. Toshiya kept giggling, but Yuuri and Viktor had stopped altogether, nearly frozen at the sight of the elder Katsuki sibling. "Ah, Marichan! Join us for breakfast!" Toshiya invited, tapping the pillow beside him. Mari simply looked away.

"It's a bit late for my breakfast, I'm afraid," She answered plainly, moving past the three men. "It's a bit late for silly tourists to start getting a move on to get on the one o'clock train to Fukuoka too."

"R-right." Viktor muttered, uncharacteristically reserved. Turning to Yuuri with a weak smile, the Russian removed his headband and stood up with his tray. "I'll just wash these, and we can get a move on, okay, Yuuri?"

Mari's hand suddenly appeared in front of him, taking what's left of his breakfast from him. "You won't reach the train in time if you wash the dishes,  _baka._ " She said with no actual bite, shooing Viktor up his room. As she gathered Toshiya and Yuuri's dishes, Mari shot a sharp glance at her brother. "Don't tell me you're going out in that."

"I-I'll get dressed." The man whimpered, thanking them for the meal and running up as well. Mari shot his retreating back another glare before fixing the stack of bowls.

"You can treat your brother more kindly." Toshiya suddenly said, stalling his daughter. Mari looked down, hands shaking in frustration.

"Just as much as he deserves." She murmured, moving back into the kitchen, leaving her father to frown and pour over his newspaper once more.

***

"Where are we going, Viktor?" Yuuri laughed, his coach pulling him through a throng of people, his silver hair enough to turn some heads. However, the man had thought ahead and had gotten himself a teal face mask with a heart in the middle, the cloth apparently enough to hide the celebrity well enough. The Russian had also taken the liberty to buy Yuuri a new face mask, a triangle-mouth printed on the dark blue material, which was also effective in hiding Yuuri from the public.

"It's a secret!" Viktor called back, dragging his student as if he were an excitable child. The Japanese man found it endearing that his coach had taken the initiative to show  _him_ around a city he'd known all his life. Despite the nagging feeling in his chest, Yuuri decided that maybe he could enjoy the day with the Russian; Viktor did tell him that he'd speak once he'd sorted himself out.  _'On his own, I'm sure.'_ Yuuri thought sadly, trying not to make his frown transparent through his eyes.  _'He looks so happy now though, as if yesterday were just a dream. I wonder what happened?'_

Despite his anxiety, Yuuri didn't fail to be amazed at how well Viktor had moved along and against the crowd, briskly walking to a specific direction as if he were able to read the Kanji on the signs. After some familiar turns, the Japanese man realized where they were going, red tinting his cheeks and ears dangerously. "W-wait, are we going to Nakasu?!" The Russian turned to him in surprise, eyes obviously deflated, but Yuuri didn't pay him any mind; images of brightly colored neon signs, scantily clad men and women, and  _love hotels for days_ flashed painfully through his brain.

"You weren't supposed to know!" The man whined as he continued to pull Yuuri to the next train line, readying his train pass. "Ah, well; you do live here after all, it's a fool's errand to try and surprise you with a place you've probably been to a million of times."

Yuuri's blush intensified. "I-I didn't-don't frequent Nakasu!" He squeaked, following the taller man shyly to the line. "How did you even find out about it?!"

Viktor flashed him one of those cheeky smiles of his. "Minako's taken me here once, and I've been here a few times already!"

" ** _WHAT?!_** "

As they boarded the train, Yuuri was pressed against Viktor, the last of the lunchtime rush still a force to be reckoned with. Still, the man was too distraught that his coach was not just only taking him to the  _red light district_ , but had been there on multiple occasions. "Do you even know what that place is?!" The shorter man asked through gritted teeth, reaching for one of the bars to hold onto.  _'Seriously, Minako-_ sensei... _'_

"Of course I do." Viktor responded with an arched eyebrow. "I'm a twenty seven year old man, little Piglet, and a very well-traveled one at that." Inching closer, Viktor smirked against Yuuri's ear. "I know a sex capital when I see one."

It took all Yuuri's self-control not to shriek inside the train car, and possibly have his world-famous coach recognized, or worse, arrested. As he gulped down his nerves, Viktor pulled away and started laughing into the inside of his elbow. "Priceless." He managed to choke out, failing miserably at hiding his chuckles. "You look so scandalized!" He wheezed, leaning against the bar his student was clinging onto. "I'm sorry, the car's moving, I'll shut up now."

The ride itself was very short, just around ten minutes, but for the thoroughly embarrassed Japanese skater, ten minutes felt just as long as ten hours.  _'God, all these people would see us get down at Nakasu!!!'_ Yuuri cried internally, wondering if they could blend in with the people getting down at that station as well. To his utter horror, however, only he and Viktor alighted the train at Nakasu, and Yuuri kept on praying that the ground would open up and eat them both.  _'Great. Now they'd think we're going to have sex in the middle of the day!'_

"Why do you look so constipated?" Viktor commented, dragging Yuuri outside the station.

"I-I'm not! Going here is just weird for me, okay?"

"But the red light districts are always so exciting!"

" ** _Viktoooor!_** "

The Russian doubled over in laughter, earning stares from passers-by. Yuuri, overcame with immense embarrassment of his situation, dragged Viktor away, into a quaint, French café. Depositing the still laughing man onto one of the booths far back, Yuuri made his way to the counter, ordering ice-blended coffees.  _'To freeze us to death, hopefully.'_ His brain supplied helpfully as he grabbed his cups, making his way back to Viktor. Thankfully, the silver-haired man had gotten himself back together, all that's left of his previous episode were the redness at the edges of his eyes. Viktor, at the very least, had thanked him for the drink. "Okay. What are we doing here, Viktor?"

The man beamed brightly. "Your birthday, of course."

Yuuri was glad that he'd already placed the cups on the table, because he was  _sure_ he'd drop both of them and waste a thousand yen. Granted, that was a very small price to pay, but he also risked spilling coffee on Viktor's designer sweater, which most probably was worth a thousand euros. And then some. "My birthday's still more than ten days away." Yuuri responded, taking a seat across his coach, who had rolled his eyes.

"Well of course I knew  _that_ , Yuuri; however, it's too close to the final and I'd like for us to focus on your skating the week before we fly to Barcelona." The man drawled as he reached for his coffee. "But for now, I'm too happy- what with Chris and Sandre's marriage and the love of my life's birthday- to work; all I want to do is have fun with you. As your coach, I can work you to the bone all I want tomorrow, but today, as your lover, I just want to have a great time with you."

The shorter man stiffly nodded, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Thank you." He said, only to be waved off by the silver-haired Russian.

"Later, when I've actually treated you."

***

"Look, the Nakasu food stalls are starting to appear!" Viktor exclaimed excitedly, silver hair turning gold at the rays of farewell from the setting sun. Yuuri glanced at his watch, noting that it was just a few minutes shy of 5:30pm, following his coach to the bright and busy area in between two rivers. The man definitely had been there before, what with the specific directions he took, as if he were looking for the  _yatai_ he frequented. Viktor zipped around, ogling and awing at the steam and sizzles from various woks and  _teppanyaki_ grills, acting as  _gaijin_ as he looked. Normally, Yuuri would have found this cute, but with how out of place his coach acted, some of the chefs had already eyed the silver-haired man, hoping to make a small fortune.

"Viktor, calm down," The Japanese man whispered, holding the Russian's shoulder as he spied the vendors as innocuously as he could. Most of them were minding their own business, most probably too focused on the task of cooking multiple types of food at once to pay any mind to the spectators, but some had that opportunistic glint in their eyes that Yuuri knew too well. Personally, he'd never experienced it (considering he's a local), but he'd heard tales of the dreaded 'tourist price' that can range from an extra five hundred to a thousand.

"Sorry, I just had lots of fun here the last time." The Russian laughed, turning to Yuuri's worry-ridden face, his smile immediately falling. "Are you okay? You look a bit stiff; do feel cold?" Without waiting for a response, Viktor immediately removed the scarf around his neck and looping it around the shorter man, who'd flushed a dangerous shade of red. "There! Much better!"

"Jeez, Viktor!" Yuuri groaned, smiling shyly at his coach. Looking from right to left, the man turned to the silver-haired Russian once more. "What do you usually get here?"

"Oh, I get  _Hakata ramen_ and  _yakitori_ usually, but I've been trying the  _shumai_ , fried stuff and the alcohol more recently!" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly as he turned back to Yuuri. "I tend to overspend here, though, since I rarely see the prices before I buy the food, but I'm very sure they were all worth it!"

 _'I knew it!_ ' Yuuri thought, just the slightest bit angry. "We should be careful, then; a lot of the people here are nice, if not a little more energetic than in Hasetsu," As he leaned closer, the man whispered into his coach's ear. "But some of the stalls here, especially the ones without prices, usually up their price is their customer is an unwitting foreigner."

"Really? But I've been getting the same price as everyone else." Viktor responded, head cocked to the side as he broke into another grin, moving to one of the _yatai_ that were first to open. In his strongly-accented Japanese, the man said, " _Konbanwa! Ima, aitemasu ka?_ " The graying lady with a much younger disposition gave one glance at Viktor before giving him a friend nod, to which the Russian beamed at. " _Yokatta! Ikayaki onegaishimasu!_ " The woman laughed.

" _Mata? Maa maa, Vicchan wa ikayaki ga totemo suki desu ne!_ "

" _Hai!_ "

Yuuri watched the exchange with bizarre curiosity, listening in as Viktor's Japanese got worse by the sentence, and yet the chef preparing his grilled squid responded to him all the same, with a teasing lilt in her voice and a sincere twinkle in her eye. By the sound of it, Viktor most probably knew the  _yatai_ owner, or at least ordered from her frequently; also, Yuuri concluded, the woman was definitely not cheating the Russian, not when she had just given the squid half-off.  _'Huh... I guess I had nothing to worry about.'_ Yuuri thought, a smile growing on his face as Viktor approached him with a grilled, soy-dipped squid on a bamboo skewer. "This one's pretty good! Taste it, Yuuri!"

"Eh?! N-no, I'll go get one too!" The Japanese man sputtered, nearly running towards the  _yatai_   and by association, was given  _yakitori_ on a discounted price as well.

"Your Russian friend is very nice." The lady quipped, sending a smile to Viktor, who'd already jumped to the next stall, appearing to have ordered  _ramen_ as he sat down and chattered away with the stall owner and another patron. Yuuri nodded to her, attention divided between his snack and his coach.

"Oh, yes, he's really energetic."

The woman laughed, turning away from the grill. "Vicchan is quite popular here; he likes talking to us, even when his Japanese was still not very good." She flipped the  _yakitori_ on its rawer side, turning to a newly-arrived couple who'd placed an order of various barbecues and sat down on the side opposite of where Yuuri was. "I haven't seen you around here, but you look quite familiar."

Yuuri laughed nervously, hand coming up to his chin to feel his mask, which he'd forgotten to pull back up to cover his face. "W-wow, my face must be very common." He responded, scratching the back of his head. "How long has he been coming here?"

The woman hummed in thought. "I'm not sure when he did start visiting this place, but I couldn't forget the first time I saw him." She took Yuuri's  _yakitori_ from the grill, taking his payment as she handed the snack to him. "It was that strange week in April of this year, when it snowed; only I and two others opened up shop, and we were going to close up early too until Vicchan waltzed onto the island, announcing that he was lost and hungry with very stilted Japanese." The woman flipped the batch of barbecues she was preparing, motioning to a wooden box inside her stall with her nose. "I couldn't let the poor man freeze in the snow, no matter how light it was; Vicchan sat there, and kept me company until he was full and we were ready to turn in."

"Oh, wow." Was all Yuuri could say, jogging his memory, but finding not more clues about his coach's escapades, except that he started coming to Nakasu on the first week he arrived in Japan. "He's been here often, hasn't he?"

"Very much so. I think he came with a lady friend once, and returned without her from then on." After the lady placed the new batch of food in front of the couple, she turned back to Yuuri with a wink. "It wasn't hard to remember our most handsome customer, especially when he kept on talking with anybody and everybody, and saying ' _vakusuno!'_ a lot!"

"That's him, all right." The Japanese man laughed, taking a bite at the  _yakitori_. "This is great!"

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri and the lady turned to Viktor, who'd waved at them both, two large bowls of steaming  _Hakata ramen_ in front of him. The woman laughed to herself. "Oh dear," She giggled. "It should be unfair to be that well-built with how voracious he eats. Watch over him; one time, he got tipsy off glass upon glass of Whiskey Highball, handed his phone to some random bystander, asking the poor man to take a picture of him as he raised what must have been his sixth glass and shouted  _'Kanpai!'_ He was lucky it wasn't a thief!"

The skater's cheeks reddened with secondhand embarrassment; he  _knew_ that specific picture, saw it on Viktor's IG, but never thought it was actually from Nakasu, considering the number of  _yatai_ in Hasetsu alone. "I-I better go to him now. Thank you very much!" Yuuri stammered, offering a small bow before moving to sit beside his coach. "Wow, this looks pretty good."

"It's also pretty calorific, but since we're celebrating, you can have as much food as you want today!"

"Right!"

As Yuuri blew on his noodles, he turned to Viktor, who'd already been slurping his soup. "You're quite the celebrity here." He jested, earning a cheeky grin from the Russian. "I guess I was worried over nothing; the people here seem fond of you."

Viktor hummed, chewing his noodles before responding. "They've been nothing but kind to me, treating me like I'm from here as much as they are able to." Ducking his head low, he whispered. "But between you and me, a lot of them had charged me your so-called 'foreigner price'."

The two shared soft laughter, both trying not to distract the chef who was juggling orders from the increasing crowd. "I knew it!" Yuuri said, eating a fishcake as he thoughtfully looked up to Viktor, who still had the playful look on his face. Honestly, the Japanese man was between feeling angry at vendors for taking advantage of the unwitting Russian, and slightly annoyed that despite knowing it, said Russian still returned to the _yatai_ , like a moth to the flame.  _'Now is not the time to flare up.'_ Yuuri thought, resigning himself to teasing Viktor instead. "You probably could afford to pay an extra five hundred or two, considering how generously you tip outside Japan."

"Why don't they just let me tip them if they'd overcharge me anyway, right?" The silver-haired man whispered dramatically into Yuuri's ear, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The dark-haired man rolled his eyes at him, turning back to his  _ramen_. "But you know, after the initial shock after finding out that I've been cheated a few thousand yen, I decided that I don't mind."

"Why not?"

Viktor hummed once more, putting his chopsticks on the rest as he thought. "I didn't want to stop coming here, really." He answered, turning to Yuuri again. "I love all the lights, the busyness, the food,  _bozhe moi_ , the food, and it wasn't long when I fell in love with the people as well." The Russian stopped speaking to take a sip from his soup, looking around and waving back to some stall owner a few shops down. "They shared so many stories with me despite not knowing who I was, and let me tell them stories about myself even when I wasn't talking about my medals and victories."

Yuuri stared at him skeptically. "They needed to make sure you came back; how else can they keep someone who constantly lets himself be overcharged?"

Brown eyes spied blues at the corner, too curious to not look, but too careful-  _'What for?'_ Yuuri thought- to turn all the way. Viktor wasn't looking at him anymore, but instead at the chef, who'd just asked him about the food.

"It is okay for you?"

" _Hai!_   _Oishii!_ "

The man laughed heartily, making sure to cover his mouth with his sleeve, before turning to Yuuri. "Your friend is good customer!" He said in strongly-accented English, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes disappeared with a smile from ear to ear. "He loves my food, and he is so handsome many lady also eat my food when he is here!"

Yuuri laughed in acknowledgment, not really sure how to react to the chef's small talk, but he was able to grunt out a surprised  _'arigatou'_ when he and Viktor received one plate of _gyoza_ each. "On the house, like Americans say!" The chef exclaimed before moving back to his _teppanyaki_ grill, leaving the bespectacled man to gawk at his coach, who already had one dumpling against his mouth. _'Wow, he gets discounts and freebies.'_ Yuuri thought in awe, his own plate of  _gyoza_ untouched as he continued to watch the Russian eat.

"They've stopped overcharging me by mid-May."

"O-oh."

Viktor's voice was hushed once more, most likely trying not to let the chef hear him. "They've never said sorry directly, no  _gomenasai_ s or any of the sort." He continued, fishing the last cut of pork from his bowl. "But I've gotten something much, much better than an apology, something more than the discounts and free stuff I usually get here; they took me in as a friend, allowed a relationship with this weird _gaijin_ who talks and talks in pidgin Japanese to thrive with them."

His eyes twinkled happily, small sparkles of gold dotting the icy blues, and Yuuri could very well tell that Viktor wasn't just giving the stall owners lip service. The smile on his mouth retained even as he continued speaking, his words slowly removing a veil from Yuuri's mind. "I think the deception in the beginning was a small price to pay for a lifetime of friendship with these people; I would have never have experienced this if I simply turned away the moment I realized I paid five hundred yen more than a Japanese."

 _'Oh.'_ Yuuri thought, all wide eyes and bated breath, unable to articulate any response to the surprisingly wise, mature and _painfully_ positive point of view Viktor had towards his experience.  _'Oh._ _'_

***

It was already ten in the evening when they'd left Nakasu, just a few minutes shy of midnight when they started walking back to Yuuri's house. Viktor was pleasantly buzzed, the alcohol he'd consumed more than he should have. His student had already resigned himself to going the Ice Castle without the Russian if he'd overslept, or heavens forbid, be hungover the following day. It was generally a bad decision to intoxicate himself, really, but Viktor still walked in a straight line, still butchered the Japanese language the same way he did sober, and still spoke perfect English, albeit with a stronger, uninhibited accent. The dusting of pink on the man's cheeks, nose, ears and what little could be seen of his neck gave it all away, though; the Russian had lost his face mask at one point on Nakasu island, and when Viktor got a bit livelier and the onlookers more curious, Yuuri decided it was better to leave than be recognized.

Still, despite all the food and talking they did, Yuuri found himself stuck on the first, deep conversation they had that night, wondering if Viktor had meant anything more than what he laid on the surface. As Yuuri turned to him, the man already humming an unfamiliar tune, he couldn't help but dig deeper into his words, seeking out something that may or may not exist.  _'Will you- when you find out- will you...'_ He didn't dare finish the sentence in his head, ashamed and unworthy; the man shook his head, a little too quickly, before he felt Viktor's  _hot_ palm on his shoulder. "Are you okay, Yuuri?"

"Y-yeah, just had too much to drink." He lied, recalling how profusely he rejected anything that had even a drop of alcohol in it. He earned a pinch on his cheek, to which he yelped. "What was that for?!"

Viktor only pouted, eyes half-lidded in mock displeasure. "Just because I had a god-awful amount of alcohol doesn't mean I'm  _drunk_ , Yuuri." He drawled- most probably referencing the Russian liver he was so proud of- and linking their arms together. His eyes lit up with some idea, Yuuri letting out an undignified squeak as Viktor twirled him around on the sidewalk.

"V-Viktor! Stop!"

The man simply beamed at him. "I know how to lift that spirit of yours." The only thing lifting at that point was Yuuri's left eyebrow.

"You're  _definitely_ drunk."

Viktor just rolled his eyes, gracefully pulling Yuuri to a soundless waltz on the pavement, only the glow of the moon and stars and their reflections on the sea, as their light. Yuuri flushed a deep red, looking left and right, despite knowing full well that there was a very slim chance that someone would walk up the road and see the ridiculous, half-drunk couple swaying with such poor timing by the asphalt. "L-Let's go home; you say you aren't, but you're definitely wasted."

 _Sake-_ flavored lips captured his, bending Yuuri's back against the metal fence overlooking the beach as Viktor leaned into the kiss, loosening only to speak against his student's mouth. "I'm happy to be part of the lives of such wonderful people." He whispered, pecking Yuuri's lips once more before he continued. "It's not your birthday yet, and I was  _very_ set on giving you my present on the day itself, but now seems to be the perfect time to do so."

The Russian kissed him again and again, until Yuuri had turned into putty in his embrace, arms looped around the taller man's neck, pulling him lower and closer to him. The Japanese man groaned when Viktor hesitantly pulled away, glazed, blue eyes staring into his intently as the man felt for something in his pocket. "Despite all things, today I've been made a happy man." Viktor whispered, keeping his hand in his pocket with whatever he was hiding. "Early tonight, I was able to celebrate your life- though we will have a much, much better celebration after the GPF, I swear to you- and early this morning I was able to celebrate Chris' and Sandre's love." As his hand resurfaced, a small, dark purple velvet box clutched in it, Yuuri found his breath hitching, and his body going cold. Instinctively, one of his hands grasped Viktor's, closing the older man's fingers over the box painfully, looking up to him with fear-ridden eyes. "...Yuuri?"

Yakov's words rung painfully in his ears.

 **You** _need to end this._

"N-not now!" The smaller man blurted out, panic in his eyes as he pushed Viktor to an arm's length, his hand still wrapped around the older man's, a corner of the box digging painfully into his palm. Yuuri closed his eyes, trying to pace his breathing after he noticed that he was very close to hyperventilating.  _'Slowly. Not too deep.'_ He instructed himself, slowly loosening his grasp on Viktor's fist.  _'You're not even sure what it is!'_

Only a fool would have mistaken the obviously luxurious ring box for totally something else, though, and the dejected look that painted Viktor's face only served to drive it deeper. "I don't understand." He whispered, voice carefully guarded from all the emotions rushing through the blue currents of his eyes, mirroring the slightly wavy sea across them. Yuuri looked at him, pulling his hand away as gently as he could.

"I'm not ready." He whispered meekly.  _'I won't ever be.'_ Hung in the air, but Viktor looked just about ready to break and Yuuri's mind could only chant _'Not yet, not yet, not yet.'_

For a moment, the two men stared at each other, neither giving nor taking, the spell only broken when the taller of the two pocketed the box in resignation. With a pained smile, Viktor leaned into Yuuri once more to kiss his forehead. Yuuri shivered at the cold of his coach's lips. "Do you love me?" He asked weakly, the warmth of his breath against his student's forehead.

Yuuri couldn't stopped himself even if he tried. "Yes. I love you."

A chuckle vibrated against his hair, and Viktor had wrapped his arms around him once more. "Okay," He laughed softly, nuzzling against the top of Yuuri's head. "I'll ask again some other time then. I can wait forever, but please don't make me wait too long, okay?" The shorter man almost broke into tears, heart clenching painfully inside his ribs as Viktor cupped his face, blues on browns. "Just know this: nothing would make me happier than to have you forever, and nothing will hurt me more than to lose you."

 **You** _need to end this._

***

Viktor didn't ask to sleep in his room, simply bidding him good night and disappearing through the sliding doors of the small banquet area-turned-bedroom. Yuuri stood frozen in front of the thin, wooden divider between them, as if he were still looking into the sad blue eyes of his coach. "Good night." He finally whispered, voice cracking as the tears he'd tried so hard to hold back fell.

Trudging to his own room was a chore; right foot, left foot, right foot, stop. He'd removed his glasses- the lenses had gotten too wet anyway- and everything looked like dark brown goop, drowning him in murky, tarry liquid. "Ugh," Yuuri groaned, balancing himself against the wooden walls as he rubbed away the wetness on his face, accidentally wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Ew," He thought absently, dragging his feet until he'd somehow entered his bedroom.

Soon, Yuuri was on the bed, smothering his face with a pillow as he yelled his heart out. He wondered if he could perish from emotional pain; with how much his lungs and head hurt, how much his heart thumped, the Japanese man could almost believe he was on the brink of a long, painful death. He laughed humorlessly. "That's the least of my worries." He whispered bitterly, taking out his phone and connecting to the internet. Before he could change his mind, Yuuri started searching for jewelry stores in Barcelona, his stomach feeling hollow and fingers like branches against the wintry breeze. "It won't be long now, Viktor." He wept, searching through catalog upon catalog of gold rings. "I need to end this."


	24. From the Town of Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Yuri Plisetsky wouldn't have hopped onto the motorcycle of a man he's barely known if he could have helped it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took long, and it's so short. :(
> 
> Yuri!! on Stage was really distracting! <3

Barcelona, as Yuri belatedly realized, was  _hard_ to traverse.

Knowing English wasn't even all that helpful, especially when a horde of fan girls was after him at breakneck speed.

"Fuck." The boy swore under his breath as he held his hood in place; it wasn't particularly windy, but since he'd been running across the city, the cool air kept on cutting into his skin, leaving his face feeling just the lightest bit chapped. "How the hell did it come to  _this_?!"

_"Yuri Plisetsky, do not use unattractive words."_

_The blonde Russian pouted at Lilia, who'd already taken to looking at her phone and planning her schedule. Yakov, despite being so adamantly against it, had begrudgingly gone up to the receptionist to check them all in. Lastly, there he was, shamefully silenced by his choreographer, hesitantly coerced into taking pictures with his fan club, Yuri Angels._

_All things considered, Yuri had been very thankful for the group, owing much of his international popularity to them. His fans managed to make him go viral on social media, capturing the attention of everyone who's who in the skating world. He sighed, bowing to receive a cat ears headband from the Barcelona faction president._

_"We're rooting for you, Yuratchka!" She said kindly, before posing beside him for a selfie, followed by the club members. As they cooed over him, Yuri allowed himself to crack a smile. He could humor them, just that time; he wouldn't be in Barcelona for very long, after all, and he didn't know when he'd be back._

_"Hey, don't forget to tag me, okay?" He said coolly, secretly satisfied when all the Spanish chattering stopped, jaws dropping as his fans couldn't believe that their almighty Yuratchka had_ spoken to them first. _He'd never tell them, but the blonde Russian thought they all looked cute that way, gawking and wide-eyed._

_"Little Yuri's very popular here, I see!"_

_"_ Blyad... _' The Russian swore, spying JJ just across where he was, a relatively cute Asian girl behind him._

_"Aw, but JJ girls are better at following the rules." The woman cooed. "And we're much cuter!"_

_Yuri resisted the urge to mouth off at her. "_ Suka." _H_ _e griped, walking up to them despite the confusion on his fans' faces. "Hey, idiot!" The boy growled. "Whoever wears sunglasses on the top of his head is scum!"_

 _Realizing what he just said, Yuri turned away, thoroughly embarrassed._ 'Shit! Why did I say that?! An arsenal of curses from four different languages, and you insult his  _sunglasses_. _'_

_"Scary." The girl said, and Yuri looked at her again. JJ had put an arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. Yuri's eyes widened when he spied a white gold ring on her finger, the blue diamond too lustrous to be ignored. The boy's temper immediately flared up, pointing his index finger at her._

_"Find someone better, bitch!"_

_To his horror, JJ simply laughed, cradling the Asian girl who'd rolled her eyes at him. "What a scary boy." She whispered, but it was loud enough for Yuri to hear._

_"He's just jealous, because I have such a beautiful fiancée."_

_Before he could finally make use of his collection of French profanity (courtesy of Viktor), JJ, the fucker, shifted his attention from him, and to... another man wearing sunglasses and had short black hair styled in an undercut._

_"Otabek!"_

_Yuri raised an eyebrow, turning his attention back and forth, noting that the two had worn similar, black leather windbreakers._ 'A twin...?'  _He thought in fleeting, immediately busting that idea when JJ walked over to the other man, towering over him by at least a head. The Russian blonde concluded that, despite their similar fashion sense, JJ and the other guy, Otabek, looked_ nothing _like each other._

_"Where you headed?"_

_"Out."_

_"Wanna have dinner with us?"_

_"...no."_

  _JJ laughed annoyingly. "Still aloof as ever, I see."_

_Otabek just nodded at him, before turning to Yuri with an unreadable expression. "Huh. What are you looking at, asshole?" The blonde growled, visibly put out when the other man simply turned away and walked out the door._

Yuri ran past a few shoppers, ducking into one of the narrow alleyways. "What are these girls?!" He asked himself, already out of breath as he leaned against a niche on the building wall he was currently splayed against. He shivered when he heard the familiar pattering of his fans' doll shoes on the cobblestone sidewalk, their voices  _too_ terrifying to forget.

"This is Yuratchka's hair!"

Yuri visibly blanched.

_Apparently, while he had his attention on Otabek and JJ, the Yuri Angels and JJ Girls had gotten into a heated argument, which unfortunately was had in complete Spanish. One of the hotel staff approached them politely to break up the fight, but one of the girls, regrettably from Yuri's fan club, snapped at him and continued barking at the JJ Girls. "Gotta get out of here," Yuri whispered to himself as he sneakily made his way to the door, only to be stopped by a couple of onlookers._

_"Oh, look; Yuri Plisetsky's fan club is fighting with a bunch of girls!"_

_"Oh my, what rowdy girls."_

_"Is this how Yuri Plisetsky's represented?"_

_Turning around slowly, the blonde boy noticed that, to his horror, the Yuri Angels held numerous banners with his name on it, while the JJ Girls had nothing on them to pin them to the Canadian skater. "Shit." He growled, finding the women much less attractive by the minute. As much as he'd like to cheer them on as his fan club obviously were much feistier than JJ's, Yuri had to maintain a dignified image; he was the Russian Punk, but that didn't give him any passes for acting like a jerk. Halfheartedly, the blonde boy trudged back towards the fray, clearing his throat to catch everyone's attention. The Yuri Angels immediately squealed in delight, while the JJ Girls offered him small smiles and shy greetings, earning dirty looks from the opposing fan club. Yuri had to stop himself from face-palming._ 'She's right, JJ Girls  _are_ better at following the rules, much more polite too.' _The Russian thought begrudgingly._

 _"All right, break it up, this is not the place for this." Yuri said, not believing the words coming from his mouth. If Viktor saw him trying to make peace- the boy's heart clenched all of a sudden, the image of the silver-haired skater, stopping himself in mid-speech._ 'That fucking liar.'  _He thought, shaking his head as he turned to his fans, all wide, expectant eyes. Yuri felt sweat pool at the back of his shirt. "W-what now?"_

 _The president walked up to him, a bit more confident that last time. "Why don't we have a fan meeting? We'd love to talk to you more." She said so boldly that Yuri_ swore  _he saw small devil horns grow on her head._ _Alarm bells started ringing in his head as the girls encroached into his personal space, the blonde backing up bit by bit as if he were fresh meat to a pack of predators._ 'What the fuck?!' _Yuri swore in his mind, his flight instinct incessantly nagging him to **run**._

_So he did._

Yuri pulled out his phone, checking if either Yakov or Lilia was online, groaning as silently as he could when the icons beside their profile pictures indicated that they were not. Scrolling down the nearly endless list of Messenger contacts, the boy bit his lip when the only one who was currently online  _and_ in Barcelona was Viktor. "Shit." He growled, staring at the empty chat box and the green dot beside the silver-haired Russian's name. He slowly started to type something.

 **Yuri** : Old man, help. I'm being chased by my fans.

Before he could send it however, the blonde was overtaken with shame, his thumb crashing down on the 'delete' button almost instantly. An angry flush covered his cheeks, Yuri's hand gripping his phone so tightly that it had begun to shake. "As if I need to associate myself with liars like them." He scoffed, keeping himself flat in the niche as one fan walked too close to his hiding place, before going back out the alley. With bated breath, Yuri checked his phone again, nearly dropping it.

_Viktor Nikiforov is typing..._

"Oh no."

 **Viktor** : Yura!

            I saw you typing!

            What's up?

"Damn it!" Yuri hissed, nearly ready to tear his hair out when Viktor's chats were marked as  _seen_.

 **Yuri** : Being chased by fan girls. I need help.

 **Viktor** : Where are you?

Yuri was just about to type the names and descriptions of the landmarks he could see when the revving of a motorcycle pulled him out of his thoughts. "Huh?" Was all the boy could say when a tall motorcycle stopped right in front of him, the rider pulling up the visor of his helmet to reveal the Kazakh skater he'd seen earlier. Yuri gripped his phone tighter, one arm instinctively being held out when a helmet was tossed to him.

"Come with me."

 _'Hell no, why would I?'_ Was on the tip of Yuri's tongue, his thoughts being cut off by a shrill shriek.

"It's Yuratchka!!!"

"And Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan?!"

"Kyaaa!"

In his panic, Yuri turned back to Otabek, who'd held his gaze enigmatically. "Well? Are you riding or not?"

Yuri turned to his fans, who were recovering from shock and making their way to him. The boy shivered; yes, he was  _definitely_ riding.

With one jump, Yuri was already behind Otabek, the Kazakh turning the motorcycle around and speeding away. Yuri swore he heard the clicks of cameras, but at that point he couldn't care less. Taking out his phone as carefully as he could, he saw that Viktor had sent him impulse chats.

 **Viktor** : Yura?

           Yura!!!

           Did they get to you?

           Are you okay?

           Where are you?

           YURAAAA!!!

_Viktor Nikiforov is typing..._

**Yuri:** Cut it out old man. I'm okay, Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan got me.

He then proceeded to pocket his phone, opting to hold onto Otabek's belt when the Kazakh shifted gears, speeding off to an unfamiliar road where the buildings looked more whimsical by the meter. "Where the hell are we going anyway?" The boy near-yelled, the bike creating too much noise for him to even hear himself. His driver only looked at him for a split second before his eyes were on the road once more. Dread filled the blonde's stomach.  _'Shit.'_ He swore internally as his hands shook around Otabek, who was still not paying him any heed.  _'Is he getting back at me for cussing at him at the hotel?!'_

He was suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, trying to remember each and every thing that could be considered a landmark. This was, again, a bit trying on his part considering how fast Otabek was going, and how confusing the next buildings they passed turned out to be.  _'Great. Getting kidnapped and you're on a road that looks like a fairy tale.'_ Yuri lamented, half-considering jumping off the bike. One look at the speed-blurred road had him reeling and grabbing Otabek's torso, shame be damned.  _'Like hell I would jump.'_

Yuri was currently entertaining his panic-driven thoughts of him on the pavement with bloody, broken legs when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Yuri's eyes lit with an idea. "H-hey! I need to answer my phone! Let's stop here!" He nearly screamed, grabbing Otabek's arm.

The bike swerved.

 _'HOLY SHIT-'_ The blonde cried internally, his voice caught in his throat as Otabek tried to have control over the vehicle once more.  _'This is it; this is how Yuri Plisetsky dies.'_

***

"Viktor? Whom are you texting?"

"Huh? Ah, just Yurio; he's hanging out with Otabek Altin."

"Oh."

"Come on! We need to get a bag of nuts to snack on later!"

"V-Viktor! Wait!"

***

Otabek Altin, for how sketchy he seemed, was a  _very_ good motorcycle driver.

"How the hell did you  _do_ that?! That was amazing!" Yuri praised, looking himself over for any nicks or scratches, still amazed that he was in one piece. Otabek just sighed, patting the leather of his bike seat, before crouching down to inspect the front wheels. The Russian followed his eyes, and even if the boy had no idea about vehicles, Yuri knew a worn out tire when he saw one. Scratching the back of his head, Yuri crouched down in front of Otabek, who just shot him a curious look. The boy looked away. "Look, um, sorry about your tire," He said, thinking, _'And about almost getting us killed.'_  "I kinda panicked."

The man in front of him, who wasn't that much taller, stood up and dusted his pants, Yuri following suit. "It's no big deal." The Kazakh responded lowly, voice devoid of emotion. "t's a rental bike; as long as the body's all right, it's no problem."

"O-Oh."

 _'Why isn't he angry?_ _'_ The Russian thought to himself as Otabek lazily inspected the bike, dusting it with his gloved hand every now and then. The boy bit his lower lip as he crossed his arms over his chest.  _'If we switched places, I'd have ripped him a new one.'_

"Everything seems to be fine." He announced as he made his way back to his passenger, who'd kept the scowl on his face. Looking around, Otabek allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "Looks like we made it to Park Güell."

"Park what?"

In an Otabek fashion- which Yuri had begun to coin anything the man of few words did, really- the Kazakh started moving towards the brown, rectangular arch in the middle of two, gingerbread house colored buildings. "Wait!" The blonde called as he made his way briskly towards the Kazakh, only to find said man leaving what looked like a ticket booth. Yuri groaned as he dragged himself to Otabek. "Seriously, can you be any more tight-lipped? If you're murdering me and throwing my body somewhere in that forest, I'd like to  _know_."

The Kazakh merely scoffed. "Just follow me." He said, making his way to the center of the park.

Yuri nearly ripped his hair off.

***

"Would it have killed you to let me wear my suit from last year at this year's banquet?"

"And risk having people notice and call you an outfit repeater? Not a chance."

***

"'Just follow me' my ass." Yuri growled through gritted teeth as he tailed his companion, who'd dragged him around the Monumental Zone of Park Güell. Personally, he wasn't into architecture and all that; with that said, the fairy tale-like appearance of the park did nothing but to aggravate his growing boredom. Looking up, the Russian cursed at the setting sun. "I'm hungry. If we stay any longer here, I'm leaving."

Otabek just looked at him funny. "You don't even know where we are." He said, before moving to the Doric Pillars.

"Wait!"

Everything looked just a bit creepier to Yuri as the sun shone orange; as they walked up the stairs, the poor boy almost had a heart attack upon spotting the giant ceramic salamander. "Holy shit, this place sucks." He muttered to himself, shooting dirty looks at Otabek's back.  _'Who is this guy anyway?'_ He grumbled, trying to wrap his head around the Kazakh's name.  _'He took Bronze at World's this year, but that's all I can remember of him.'_ Yuri hummed thoughtfully, snapping his fingers when realization struck, scrambling to get his phone from his pocket.  _'Viktor would know.'_

And he did.

 **Viktor** : Otabek?

           Do you remember him?

           You were in the same novice class!

           At Yakov's, that one summer when you were still so cute!

           He's no ballerina though.

           Have fun! No alcohol, Yura.

"Huh..."

He didn't really know what to do with the new information.  _'So he was part of that class... what of it?'_ Yuri rolled his eyes as he took one last step until they were at the top of the Doric Columns.  _'I don't even remember him...'_  In his defense, Otabek didn't really have a memorable face; he's been with beautiful, eccentric and interesting people like Viktor, Mila and Georgi, though he'd be loathe to admit, so someone like Otabek, who'd seem like a nobody to him (despite a bronze at World's) until their 'kidnapping' incident couldn't exactly leave a mark.

When Otabek simply leaned over the walls, instead of talking to him, Yuri burst. "Hey." He growled, walking over as his rage increased. "Are you done sightseeing? Did you just take me out because you didn't want to look like a loser all alone?"

The other man finally looked at him. "I wanted to meet up, for old time's sake." He said, and Yuri wondered what surprised him more: Viktor being right about their shared novice class or Otabek actually remembering said novice class while Yuri couldn't.

"So it's true." The Russian mumbled, taking his place beside Otabek, leaning onto the colorful wall. "I don't even remember much about that class. All I knew was until I got better, I couldn't complain." Red colored his cheeks, realizing that he'd said something less than cool, something strangely intimate. Thankfully, Otabek didn't seem to fazed.  _'Thank goodness, Viktor would have rubbed it in until next GPF, that bastard.'_ He sighed.

"I just broke into Juniors that time." Otabek reminisced, turning his head downward, allowing the sun to bathe his undercut hair in gold. "But I couldn't keep up with the Russians, so they put me in the novice class. Ballet wasn't for me, so I moved away to train; to America, Canada, and only until recently was I able to return to Almaty." Dark eyes met green, and Yuri felt his cheeks burn, but for an entirely different reason. "I couldn't forget you. Yuri Plisetsky always had eyes like a soldier."

"Why did you bring me here?" The blonde asked, surprised at how squeaky his voice had come out. If Otabek noticed the gradual flushing of Yuri's face, he didn't call him out for it, instead watching the boy carefully with stoic eyes, for which Yuri was thankful. The lump in his throat wouldn't go away no matter how many times he swallowed, a strange, feverish warmth blanketing his neck and face as the strong, uneven thumping of his heart made his ribs hurt. _'W-what's going on?'_ He was able to think, before he noticed how white his knuckles had gotten from clutching the plaster wall. He turned back to Otabek, who's normally emotionless face was riddled with worry.

"Yuri? What's going on?" The man asked, but the blonde's attention was fixated on the slightly visible skin under Otabek's clavicle. Yuri rubbed his eyes once, twice, thrice.

"What the fuck...?!" Yuri swore, grabbing the collar of Otabek's shirt and pulling it down, decency be damned. The skin under the Kazakh's clavicle, just a little to the right, started to discolor, much to the pair's horror. "O-Otabek! What's going on?!"

"I don't know!" The other man snapped back, eyes wide and riddled with confusion, helplessly watching his skin take on a much, much darker hue. Yuri, on the other hand, began to panic, and took out his phone.

"Quick! What's the emergency line here in Barcelona?!"

"112? 061? Is this a medical emergency?"

"Why are you _still_ so calm!?"

 The darkening hue formed a solid black, a single swirl against Otabek's lightly tanned complexion. Yuri watched curiously, thumb just above the call button, nearly dropping his phone when a splotch of skin above the swirl started smoothing out.  _'Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Is this some kind of new leprosy strain!?'_ The boy panicked, thumb crashing down onto his phone, dialing 061.

_" _Aló. ¿Cuál es su emergencia?"__

"Ah, uh," Yuri stammered, caught off guard. He clamped his hand over the receiver and turned to Otabek, who was already marveling at the discoloring of his skin. With wide eyes, the Kazakh turned to the blonde, something between a smile and scream on his lips. Yuri's gaze fell his companion's skin, just below the clavicle; he'd recognize that image  _anywhere_.

"I just got marked."

A beat of silence passed, the two sharing shell-shocked expressions as the woman on the line kept on whispering Spanish sentences into Yuri's ear. " _No habla español_." The boy muttered before ending the call.

***

On Otabek Altin's skin was a newly birthed pearlescent lily with a single black swirl around it.

***

"You fell in love with me a while ago, didn't you?"

Yuri flushed, almost ready to toss his teacup at his friend. "Fuck you." He growled with no real bite. "First of all, we  _established_ that already, since that goddamn mark appeared. Second, fuck you again."

Otabek smiled- not smirked, Yuri noted- that tiny smile of his. "Maybe when you're of legal age already."

The younger of the two let out a sound akin to a dying animal, face dangerously red and mouth agape. Otabek let out a small chuckle. "Hey, you're one to talk! You fell in love with a ten-year-old!" He responded in indignation, watching as the older of them sat back and enjoyed the tea in silence. The pink dusting his face had long disappeared; the Kazakh was surprisingly pleasant company, his brand of humor and teasing nearly the same wavelength as Yuri's. They've only been together three hours, but the blonde's never warmed up to anyone in such a short span of time.  _'Because we're soulmates, huh?'_ The boy thought, still slightly skeptical. Turning back to Otabek, Yuri cracked a cheeky smirk. "Did you look for me because you knew I was your match?"

Yuri would have laughed at how comical Otabek looked with wide eyes, teary from choking on his drink, if the man didn't look so painfully honest in his surprise. "No." He coughed, putting down the cup as silently as he could, coughing into his sleeve. "I just really wanted to reconnect. I saw you on the lineup, but we were put in different events." The Kazakh wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, reluctantly turning back to the half-empty cup.

The Russian had the decency to look a bit bashful. "Sorry, uh, for forgetting you."

Otabek snickered. "I wasn't very memorable."

Yuri would beg to differ, but the man was right; Otabek Altin was no household name. As he gazed at his face, the blonde decided that objectively, the Kazakh wasn't someone he'd consider as handsome either; not only did he share his fashion and hairstyle with JJ, the dark-haired man also had a resting bitch face and he wasn't even that tall. Secretly Yuri believed he'd overtake Otabek in a year, but he'd rather not think about it, especially when the object of his thoughts was just sitting in front of him. Still, the Russian decided, with how long he'd spent his time with over-expressive prodigies like Viktor and Mila, the company of the mysterious, quiet dark horse of the GPF was a breath of fresh air. He wondered if Otabek felt the same. "Are you disappointed?" Yuri asked, trying to mask his insecurity with indifference. Otabek didn't even miss a beat.

"Well, the tea could have been stronger."

The blonde groaned in frustration. "Not the tea, Otabek; me,  _your fucking soulmate;_  why the hell do you need me to spell it out?!" He blurted out, all his rage drowned out by the embarrassment in his tone. Again, the other man didn't even flinch.

"What kind of question is that?" He responded, looking Yuri directly in the eye. "I honestly haven't really paid attention to the entire soulmate ordeal; my family told me that it will come when it would." He paused, allowing a smile to grace his face as his companion flushed. "I wanted to make a friend and came out with a match. How does that disappoint me?"

"It doesn't disappoint me either!" The younger responded almost immediately, earning a chuckle from the older man.

"I know, or you wouldn't even give me the time of day."

"Hey I resent that-"

Otabek chuckled again, effectively silencing the blushing boy. "It doesn't have to be a contest, you know. There is absolutely nothing you have to prove to me." The man's eyes softened, reaching his hand over the table for a handshake. "Unlike our time as figure skaters, we as soulmates still have our entire lives to work it out."

Yuri gazed down at his hand, then back to Otabek's face. "Is this a 'no promises' kind of thing? Like we'll work out if we'll work out, and we won't if we won't?"

The hand in front of him didn't even falter. "I guess it's  _you_ who needs spelling out for." The Kazakh quipped playfully, earning a glare from the younger boy. "I  _am_ offering you a promise to be your friend. When we're ready for more, I'll make you another promise."

The handshake was strong but quick, Yuri immediately pulling back his arm as he looked his match in the eye. "I've never really believed in matches." He whispered, hesitance visible in his green irises, held by the most confident gaze the Russian had ever seen.

"I hope you believe in friends, then."

The corner of Yuri's lips were suddenly the slightest bit upturned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aló. ¿Cuál es su emergencia? - Hello. What is your emergency?  
> No habla español. - I don't speak Spanish.


	25. The Last Day of Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri tries to come to terms with losing Viktor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been long overdue. Q_Q
> 
> Sorry for the delay, but here it is! The chapter was supposed to be longer, but I think it'll be better if the Barcelona date were split into two.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The moment he stepped off the ice from practice was the moment Yuuri felt time stop.

Suddenly, all the other competitors disappeared, and not even JJ's boisterous laughter and Yuri's multilingual cursing could penetrate the bubble the Japanese man found himself in. All he saw was Viktor, holding his coat and looking tired but content. Viktor, who held out his hand for Yuuri to take, offering his shoulder for Yuuri to lean on while he placed his blade guards on, and had the audacity to  _recommend_  staying at the hotel for the rest of the day. The bubble came so close to popping, but the dark-haired man was adamant, wanting nothing but to live in their own little world for as long as he could.

"Don't be a model coach now." He said as he slotted the rubber onto the blades. "This is my first time in Barcelona, so take me sightseeing."

Yuuri wished he had a camera at that moment, so that he could have immortalized how Viktor's face lit up like a thousand stars. "Leave it to me." He said, and honestly, Yuuri wouldn't have it any other way.

***

"Whoa, it's huge." Yuuri gasped as he looked up to the church, somewhat reminded of stalactites he'd only ever seen on television. The Sagrada Familia was massive and looked more like a piece of art rather than a place of worship, but then again, the man had only the Catholic church in Fukuoka to compare it to. When he was in Detroit, he didn't have much time nor interest in checking out the churches, even when a lot of his classmates practiced Christianity. Slowly, he turned to Viktor, who looked at the building with some sort of reverence. "Do you go to mass, Viktor?"

The other man let out something in between a laugh and a sigh. "I used to," He responded, turning from the building and to Yuuri. "But I got busy, and rest days became a luxury I couldn't afford to waste outside of bed." He joked as he rested his hand on Yuuri's shoulder, turning back to the church. "Sometimes, when I'm all alone, I kinda wish I made time; it must be nice to believe strongly in a Higher Power, who'd always,  _always_ be there for you no matter what."

Yuuri nodded, looking up to the peaks of the building. Viktor continued to speak. "Nobody is like that, at least that's what I thought before." He whispered, garnering a curious look from his student as the man proceeded without turning to him. "Nobody can be there for you always, and at the worst of times, nobody can be there for you at all." Yuuri found himself clutching his coach's hand, as if urging the man to continue.

"When  _Babushka_ died, Yakov and Lilia found me sitting beside her body. I've known a bit about how funerals worked, but all I was able to do was wash her one more time and put an unfinished white dress and a belt on her." The Russian recounted, moving his hands in front of him, even when Yuuri's was tucked into one of them, as if he were wrapping something-someone. He looked at the shorter man apologetically. "I think that was the longest time I've gone without Yakov yelling at me, or telling me to do anything but eat, sleep, bathe, and sit beside our telephone and watch our door."

"Telephone?" Yuuri asked, sort of understanding, but also quite confused. Viktor only nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Lilia took care of all the traditional prayers and the like, while Yakov arrange all the practical things. All I had to do was look at  _Babushka_ , sit by the telephone and watch the door." The man laughed bitterly. "It was the most agonizing three days of my life; not only was my grandmother dead, the telephone rung not once and the door only opened for Lilia, Yakov, and the priest. I felt so alone."

"What about your family?" Yuuri blurted out, embarrassed by his own inquiry. "S-sorry! You don't have to answer that."

Viktor only laughed. "No, it's okay, it doesn't really bother me, at this day and age." Yuuri frowned.

"What does that even mean?"

"Uh," Viktor said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. Leaning closer to Yuuri's ear, he whispered. "Don't be surprised, but I'm from a family of defectors."

Thankfully, his scream was preempted by his expression, and Viktor's hand muffled any scandalous sounds that may bother the other tourists, the Russian breaking down into fits of laughter not too longer after.

" _Bozhe moi_ , I wish you saw your face!" He cackled, tears forming in his eyes; Yuuri almost hoped that the corner of his lips would tear from how hard Viktor was laughing. Finally, the smaller man was able to push the Russian off him, the latter still unable to tame his giggling. "I'm so sorry! It was just too good to pass up!"

"Haha, real funny, Viktor." Yuuri spat, the corner of his lips curling up unconsciously. "Idiot, I thought your parents were really USSR defectors!"

The man began howling anew, to the shorter one's chagrin. "Oh my,  _solnyshko_ , you have to excuse me, but you are too precious, I can't stop laughing!" He said through wheezing, drying his eyes on the back of his glove. "Yuuri, if I were the son of a defector, it would have made news  _decades_ ago."

The dark-haired man's cheeks flushed dangerously, a strong urge to whack his handsome companion on his head overcoming him. "To think I was really feeling down about your grandma!" He squeaked, sounding much more pathetic and less scarier than he wanted to be. Viktor, to his credit, began to stifle his giggles.

"Aw, thank you, but it was a long time ago already." He said, traces of laughter still in his husky voice, looking up again, Viktor raised his hands, as if to reach the peaks of the church. Yuuri couldn't help but catch the glimpse of the sun against his coach's pristine nails.

 _'Would we have become close enough for you to tell me all about your life, your family?'_ Yuuri thought as a wistful smile broke on his face.  _'If I didn't get the tattoo, would we have had the chance to become good friends?'_ Slowly, he raised his hands up as well; not quite as high as Viktor's, but the height difference was not too far off that the Russian was able to see him mimic his actions. The man turned to him, his hand enveloping Yuuri's gently. "Are you copying me,  _solnyshko_?" He asked, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Yuuri's palm as he brought their hands down. The dark-haired man smiled as he pulled Viktor's hand to his chest, taking the time to look at the surprisingly calloused fingers.

"D-Do you still think that nobody can be there for you?" The man asked softly, his throat clenching despite his attempts to dislodge the lump in it.

"You're here for me."

The turn he made was too sharp, and Yuuri nearly felt dizzy from the whiplash. "Besides me!" He blurted out, wondering if he sounded too suspicious; with a lowered voice, he continued, "If I'm not here, do you think that nobody else would be there for you?"

Viktor's eyes were unreadable at that point, some sort of mist clouding the normally clear blues he'd had no problem sharing with Yuuri. As he took his hand back, Yuuri's still clasped in it, the Russian spared him a small grin. "It took some time for me to realize it, but no, I don't think that way anymore." He answered. Looking up to the church once more, Viktor smiled. "When  _Babushka_ died, I moved out of the house and stopped attending church altogether since those reminded me of her too much. Now that I'm older, seeing churches just brings back fond memories of her." The radiance from the sun seemed to illuminate his coach's silver hair, the wind playing with the locks; Yuuri had to catch his jaw, considering how ethereal Viktor appeared.

"I came to a conclusion that she's never left me, at least not entirely." He pressed his student's hand against his chest, willing the Japanese man to feel the steady beat of his heart. "I realized that when you love and are loved in return, a little bit of your souls make homes in each other's hearts. Unlike the fickleness and impermanence of relationships and life itself, all the memories of the people I've ever held dear will forever stay with me."

"You, Yakov, Yurio, Chris... now that I think about it, all of you have pretty vast estates in my heart!" Viktor laughed, still keeping Yuuri's hand against his chest. "I've been ignorant of it for far too long; skating, being on the ice and on top of the world because of it, those were very important things to me." The man brought his companion's knuckles to his lips, giving it a soft peck as he peeked through the curtain of his bangs to glance at Yuuri's blush. "You saved me that day, you know? I would have let the vicious cycle eat me alive, winning and winning until I broke myself, but you reached out to me and reminded me why I was on the ice in the first place."

 _'N-no, you've been saving me, not the other way around!'_ Yuuri's mind countered, but the man dared not speak while Viktor clearly wasn't finished. Instead, he let himself be pulled into a one-arm hug, resting his forehead on the fabric of his coach's coat. "You reached out to me, and I was finally able to see how many others were patiently waiting for me to simply take their hands." Viktor caressed his cheek, turning his head so that Yuuri made eye contact with him. "There will never be a day that I would regret running off to chase my soulmate, but I am eternally grateful that in finding him, I finally was able to see what a beautiful life I have."

Viktor's forehead pressed against Yuuri's, the blues of his eyes like diamonds sparkling under the light. "No matter what that brain of yours tells you, you are the sun of my life, the guiding North Star of my night. Don't you, not even for a second, forget that."

Yuuri gulped, the heat from his face fogging his glasses. His coach's fingers played with his right hand absently, but the attention to his ring finger was too obvious for him not to notice. The Japanese man looked down, eyes widening as he noted Viktor's free hand linger near a box-shaped bulge on his coat pocket. An airy, mint-scented chuckle tickled his nose, turning mortification into confusion as he met the Russian's eyes. "Too early still, I guess?" Viktor whispered, pulling away. He could have just imagined it, but Yuuri swore he saw tears glistening in his coach's eyes; in a flash the heart-shaped smile was put in place, the Russian's blue gems hidden from him by thick, silver lashes. "This has gotten  _too_ serious! We're here to go sightseeing; Yuuri, go stand there and raise your hands, I need something for Instagram!"

"V-Viktor, wait-"  _'We_ _re you really... again...?'_

There was no time for argument, apparently, as the larger man had pushed him to a near-jumping position, arms above his head. Viktor then ran to place his timer-ready phone on a bench, setting the camera for a worm's-eye-view photo. Turning to Yuuri, Viktor offered a smile before running to his side and raising his arms. "Come on, smile!"

"W-what?!"

He didn't understand, but Yuuri forced on a smile, just as the flash of Viktor's phone went off.

***

"Did you come here often? To Barcelona?" Yuuri asked as they made their way to a restaurant Viktor swore had the best paella. Viktor winked at him.

"I've been running around the globe for almost all my life; there is no place I've visited enough to call it often except my home in Saint Petersburg." The Russian joked, pulling Yuuri through the door and to an empty table by the window. An English-speaking waiter approached them with a smile, wished Yuuri luck at the GPF, and asked Viktor if he was having his regular order again.

" _Si, gracias_." The Russian enunciated, and Yuuri almost laughed at how strong his accent was on the Spanish words. The waiter, clearly used to his antics, smiled endearingly and left the two. The younger of the two diners raised his eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

"Not often, huh?"

Viktor just brushed his bangs away with a flourish. "I'm pretty memorable." He said, folding his hands over each other as he hummed. "I can't have gone here more than five times, though; I did, however, start coming here way back, when this dainty place was just a hole-in-the-wall restaurant."

"I see."

The two waited in companionable silence, Viktor fiddling with his phone and trying to get a good hold of the erratic signal. Yuuri smiled to himself, watching his coach try to get the best selfie, feeling a small ache in his chest.  _'I wish this would never end.'_ He thought, drinking in Viktor's appearance, trying to engrave his smile into his heart and his laughter into his soul. The mark on his right hip throbbed dully, Yuuri's placing his hand over it absently as his smile shrank.  _'But it will.'_ Unfortunately for him, his coach had caught him the moment his eyes drop.

"Yuuri? Are you feeling okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Hungry, I guess."

Yuuri pretended not to notice that Viktor's smile was as fake as his excuse. "You better be; did I ever tell you that this place has the best paella in all of Barcelona?"

If the shorter man's smile looked more like a grimace, the Russian didn't point it out. "Yeah, I think you mentioned it a couple of times." Yuuri responded, and they shared forced, pathetic laughter. "Oh, there it is!"

The plate of steaming paella was a welcome distraction as the pair dug in almost immediately. Viktor asked the waiter to take their picture and babbled on, talking coming easy to him even after the awkwardness they had a few moments prior. Yuuri nodded every now and then, snorting when his coach reminded him not to eat too fast, or too much for that matter. "This is good stuff, but don't forget to chew!" He reminded, taking in a spoonful of the dish, gesticulating how divine the paella was with a wave of his hand. The Japanese man just laughed at him, secretly admiring how impeccable Viktor's table manners were, recalling how less than formal he was during his entire stay in Hasetsu.

 _'You really are made for greater things.'_ Yuuri thought, a mix of fondness and heartache.  _'You're made for a better person.'_ He hid his sighs through chewing, taking his time to savor the intermingling flavors of seafood and slightly spicy rice. Yakov's image flashed through his head, and Yuuri couldn't help but gasp.

_" **You** need to end this."_

A glass of water was thrust into his hand, and Yuuri ended up swallowed half-masticated rice, startled. No sooner than a moment did he fall into a spell of coughing, tears he'd been doing his best to hold back finally falling, the dark-haired man thankful for choking because at least he had an excuse. The glass of water disappeared and a hand was on his back, rubbing circular motions through his coat. "Yuuri, are you okay? I told you to chew!" Viktor chided, bringing the glass of water to his lips once more, this time urging the younger man to take it. "Do you need something warm to soothe your throat? Ah, but I think they don't have tea here."

"N-no, it's f-fine," Yuuri croaked, taking small sips of the water as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "S-sorry, I just thought of something, and it got out of hand..."

"Oh. Well, chew slowly, okay?"

"Yeah, that was awful."

At that, Viktor started laughing again, to Yuuri's confusion. "What's so funny?"

"Us." The man responded, taking a sip of water. "We've been floundering around each other ever since Sagrada Familia as if we're on our first date. I've been with you for nine months, and been  _with_ you for nearly three."

Yuuri looked down, taking another careful bite, swallowing only when he absolutely needed to, silence settling between them. Viktor allowed a few moments of quiet, putting his attention to the paella once more, only to realize that he couldn't keep mum for long. "Can you tell me what's bothering you, Yuuri?" The Russian asked, voice visibly strained, the Japanese man flinching at the desperation in his voice. As Yuuri tried to rack his brain for any semblance of a coherent sentence, Viktor had reached out to take his hand, making the younger man face him. "Is this because I tried to...?"

Yuuri clamped his fingers over Viktor's fist immediately, fitting them on the grooves of his knuckles, but said nothing to appease the older man. "You can tell me anything,  _solnyshko_ , anything at all." He continued, putting on one of those tired smiles Yuuri's been seeing more often. The younger man tried not to flinch at how  _exhausted_ Viktor had looked all of a sudden. "You don't have to worry about anything; whatever it is, I'll still be here after you tell me."

 _'...what?'_ The Japanese man thought as he searched Viktor's eyes for any indication of what he could have meant. Their interactions had been blatantly forced ever since their conversation outside the church, ever since the Russian had _hinted_ at desiring something more permanent between them. "What do you mean by that?" He asked quietly, carefully masking his own expression by burying himself in the food.  _'Wait, slowly.'_ He repeated in his head like a mantra, busying his mind as Viktor appeared to be digesting his question.

"I just want you to know that I'm playing for keeps."

That time, it was the waiter who'd rushed to them with a tall glass of water, Viktor already on his feet and rubbing Yuuri's back, the younger man in the same choking-and-coughing predicament as before. The waiter looked at him apologetically. "Too spicy for your friend, perhaps?" His accented voice came. The Russian chuckled as he assisted the Japanese man in drinking, shaking his head.

"I think I just have impeccable timing." He joked, earning a hearty laugh from the waiter. "I think we'd have the rest to go; are you still strictly cash payments only, or do you accept MasterCard now?"

***

"Sorry we couldn't stay longer." Yuuri apologized as they made their way to the shopping district Viktor kept telling him about. He was already holding a cup of warm lemon juice with ginger to soothe his throat, but the man was a bit more wary in drinking it when Viktor appeared that he was going to speak.

"It's no problem, we needed to see as much of Barcelona as we could! Since I forgot to get Chris and Sandre a gift from Fukuoka, I figured here would be the best place to look!" Viktor waved off, pulling his student to a red, circular building, Yuuri wondering if everything was naturally very big in Barcelona. The Russian turned to him again as they made their way in- a surprise, really, considering how modern it looked on the inside compared to the outside- motioning the Japanese man to follow him. "This is the Arenas de Barcelona; they had bullfights here before it was illegal, but now it's a commercial center!"

"Oh, wow. There's a lot of stuff here." Yuuri gawked, letting himself be pulled by the energetic Russian as he sucked in his surroundings. As he watched Viktor's hair bounce with each step, the shorter man noted how subtly his coach's demeanor had changed from the restaurant. Conversation flowed freely between them once more, and even when Yuuri had wanted to bring up their issues, the silver-haired man's dazzling smile was more than enough to shut him up. Begrudgingly, he knew he should have tried harder to talk to him, Viktor deserved more than just a sweep under the rug, but the man appeared so  _genuinely_ excited; Yuuri almost suspected that the Russian had finally blocked him out, walling him with one of his 'perfect life' masks. The thought made the shorter man sag. "Hey, Viktor? Where are we going?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm getting a bag of chocolate bars and some wine, but I'm also interested in getting that mosaic lizard." He called back, buzzing excitedly from the thought of shopping. "Ah, I already had some rubles exchanged, so if you're still holding onto yens, it's no problem!"

"No! I have few hundred euros ready!"

Viktor pressed a finger against Yuuri's lip, a playful smirk on his lips. " _Lyubov moya_ , do not shout that in here." He said with a laugh before pulling his student to a nearby chocolaterie.

***

Viktor, to Yuuri's horror, was a shopaholic. The shorter man belatedly noticed his companions increasing amount of shopping bags(some of which were already being carried by the Japanese man) and seemingly unlimited supply of euros; as the Russian received his seventh bag, Yuuri was compelled to stop him. "Uh, Viktor, that's a lot of, erm, mosaic lizards." He whispered as they exited the store. True enough, Viktor had purchased more than a healthy amount of El Dracs, and one mosaic cat, filling two large canvas bags. The older man only beamed at him.

"Oh, but Yuuri! El Drac is one of the best things you can get as a souvenir from Barcelona! It looks very fun and cute, and I think our friends would love to have one!" The man responded, taking out one of the salamanders from a box for inspection. Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should remind Viktor that most of the friends he bought the pieces for were also in Barcelona. "Look! This one is of very good quality! I'm not giving this to Yurio, though, he'll just break the poor thing."

Yuuri took the lizard from Viktor, feeling each individually-carved tile with the pad of his thumb. He'd never tell his coach, but the Japanese man found the thing a bit unsettling, the cheerfully colorful yet mismatched 'tiles' it had around it making it seem more lonely. To Yuuri, the lizard may have had the body of a salamander, but it looked like a chameleon; looking at Viktor's oddly perpetual smile, the Japanese man couldn't help but make the connection.

**_"Viktor!"_ **

Pulled out of their own worlds, the two men turned to Mila Babicheva, who was dragging around another female singles skater, Sara Crispino. Suspiciously nearby were the unmistakable pair of Michele Crispino and Emil Nekola, the former giving them a stink eye Viktor appeared impervious to. Speaking of Viktor, the man had all but flew to Mila, who'd enveloped his middle with her lithe arms, earning giggles from the Italian woman. "It's so nice to see you! It's been  _months_ since I last saw you, Viktor!" The redhead cried happily, nuzzling the man's chest. Motioning to Sara, face still planted on Viktor's clavicle, she said, "Oh, bet you know my friend Sara; we're betting on who's getting Gold this year!"

"You'd better be on your toes then," The Russian male joked, earning a punch from the redhead after she belatedly caught the pun. "Ouch, you still punch like a boxer." He turned to Sara, who'd been nothing but a quiet ball of giggles beside them. "Hello, Sara! I see that Mila has made a beautiful friend."

Yuuri caught the dangerous blush on the Italian girl's face, biting his lip when he realized that Sara became a bumbling mess after that. "O-oh, thanks, Mr. Nikiforov." She said, making Yuuri raise his eyebrows.  _'Mr. Nikiforov?'_ He thought crossly, knowing full well the reason for his soured mood. Unfortunately for him, Sara was as oblivious as Viktor at the moment. "Hi Yuuri!" She called as she ran up to him- not without giving Viktor a once over, Yuuri noted begrudgingly- and enveloping him in a hug. "Congrats! I can't wait to see you in the Final!"

He cracked a smile. "H-hi! Uh, yeah; congratulations to you too!" He responded, for once happy that he was known for his nerves, the discomfort he felt around Sara something he could pass off as his normal reaction, instead of jealousy. "You and Mila shopping as well?"

The Italian nodded earnestly, turning back to her touchy-feely friend, who had stuck herself against Viktor indefinitely, making up for lost time. "She's never been assigned to Barcelona before, but I've been here a lot, so we're checking out the sights." She responded, peeking into Yuuri's bag before laughing. "I see you've gotten yourself pieces of Antoni Gaudí."

Yuuri was about to respond when Mila appeared in front of him, already looking into the bag filled with mosaic lizards. "I always wanted one of these!" She quipped, taking out one of the boxes and showing it to Viktor. The Japanese man was rendered speechless with how fast they were talking and moving. "I'm also planning on buying a lot of these! My university friends would cry once they find these pretties in their lockers."

"You can take two then, one for you and one for the lovely Sara."

Yuuri caught Sara's blush once more, watching her as she shyly held her hands like a schoolgirl waiting for a bag of treats. Viktor spared her one of his kinder, more genuine smiles, and the Japanese man thought that the odd pair shouldn't look  _that_ intimate when sharing a lizard. Sara had thanked him profusely, and the two had entered into an easy conversation, the Italian asking just the right questions to keep the silver-haired Russian interested. The Japanese man felt his hold on the bag tighten, his nails digging into his palm as he fixed his stare onto the two, petty in his feelings of being ignored. He wasn't, however, and the moment Mila's elbow connected to his rib, albeit softly, Yuuri nearly yelped and dropped the El Dracs. Half-lidded blue eyes glinted as they bore into him, a smile on Mila's pink lips insinuating that she was enjoying some private joke.

"You're jealous." She said easily, as if she were simply commenting on the weather. Yuuri didn't- _couldn't_ \- even dignify the redhead with an answer, pretending he didn't hear her. Mila was not having any of it however, bending over to look at his from below. Oddly enough, the Japanese man felt so much smaller, even when he was looking down at the Russian lady. Content that she'd garnered his attention, the redhead righted herself and languidly turned to the odd pair, who'd continued to talk about Disney movies ( _'How on earth did they get on_ that _topic?!'_ Yuuri wondered, especially when he was treated to Viktor and Sara's collective sigh as they lamented that Anastasia was, in fact, not a Disney princess.). "It's all right, you know, to lay claim on your man."

His ears suddenly burned.

"W-What are you talking about?!" Yuuri stammered, feeling the heat at the back of his neck. Mila simply continued smirking at him, planting her fists on her hips.

"Let's just say it's not something I'm a stranger to." She drawled, her eyes falling onto Michele, two stores away, obviously  _seething_ at how easy Sara was laughing with the Living Legend. Yuuri allowed himself to cast Viktor a worried glance, recalling how much the Italian man mouthed off towards Seung-gil, when the Korean didn't even seem interested in Sara to begin with. Michele, however, probably was still intimidated by Viktor, considering how he let himself be held back by the smiley Czech. "You don't have to worry, you know."

Turning back to Mila, Yuuri found a fond, yet far away smile on her face. "Sara won't even dare try to take Viktor." The redhead quipped, looking at Yuuri through curtains of her lashes. "Everybody can see how happy you've made him."

 _'No, don't say that, please.'_ Yuuri's mind begged, his indifferent mask crumbling as he watched Viktor take out his phone to take a selfie with Sara. He really didn't deserve what would happen, when everything's said and done, when he realizes that Yuuri wasn't  _his_.

Viktor never dips his toes into the water first; he always, _always_ dives in head first. It was one of the most admirable traits the man possessed, as it took great courage to fiercely and fearlessly invest oneself to something, especially when there's no guarantee. That was why Viktor perpetually looked ethereal, untouchable,  _legendary_ as he took the ice, throwing himself completely into the story he spun, as if he were living its tale despite the constricts of reality. That was why Viktor would find himself  _drowning_ the moment Yuuri pops the bubble of their own little world, Yakov's words like a glistening sword over his head, hanging by the strand of silver-colored hair.

_" **You** have to end this."_

"-messaging me!"

Viktor's voice pulled him back to Arenas de Barcelona, the Japanese man standing alone as Mila had leaped towards the silver-haired male, on her tiptoes as they stared at the phone. Their eyebrows met in the middle from confusion, their shoulders sagging. "Huh, he stopped typing." The man pouted, furiously tapping away on his phone. "He's probably just shy, that boy!"

Mila leaned into Sara's face, motioning to the two men _still_ two stores away, obviously eyeing them like hawks. "You're _still_ his babysitter, even digitally? Wow, I guess I should go before he finds me here and bites my head off." Mila announced, linking her arm with the Italian girl's, turning to Yuuri. "We'll see you guys tomorrow, okay? Do your best!"

With that, the two ladies rushed past them, disappearing through a bend. Immediately, Michele and Emil were in front of them, the former looking worse for wear, the latter his complete opposite. "Damn... those girls are too fast!" Michele complained, running past Viktor and Yuuri after he'd caught his breath. The Czech, at least, had the decency to greet them, before following suit.

"Bye Yuuri, Viktor! Looking forward to your amazing performance tomorrow!"

"Thanks Emil!" Viktor called back, earning a wider grin from the blonde man, who'd turned the corner with Michele. As soon as the two had been out of sight, the Russian's eyes fell to his phone once more, fingers tapping vigorously. Finally alone, the Japanese man took his place beside his coach, putting a hand on the silver-haired man's shoulder.

"Viktor? Whom are you texting?"

***

Their tenth shopping bag weighed down on Yuuri more than it should have, considering it was just a bag of nuts. The store owner had been generous enough to let the two sample her goods (most likely because of Viktor's face, Yuuri figured), and the two had enjoyed so much that they'd bought an entire bag filled with assorted nuts. It was one of their cheaper purchases, from a snack store among myriads of similar snack stores, but Yuuri thought it special all the same.

In all honesty, the Japanese skater had found himself cherishing the moments he had with his coach after they've parted ways with Mila and her group.

_"It's all right, you know, to lay claim on your man."_

_"Everybody can see how happy you've made him."_

As much as he wished he didn't, Yuuri couldn't deny his effect on Viktor; despite all the tension that had bubbled between them, the Russian had not tried to push him away, constantly trying to make the best out of their situation, fishing out his happiness from such an unstable source. Viktor was tired, stressed and looked as if he'd need nothing more than a break from coaching him (which, Yuuri noted, he'd not billed a single yen of), but when his blue gaze fell on Yuuri, even the Japanese man couldn't deny how besotted he looked.

It was strange to him, how to be on the receiving end of someone who looked at him as if Yuuri had placed the stars in the sky. He caught Viktor too many times, staring at him when he wasn't looking,  _not looking away_ when he actually was, and he'd grown out of being embarrassed;  Yuuri had long since stopped stammering and blushing heavily under the Russian's loving gaze, responding with a soft smile of acknowledgment instead.  _'How could I ever think of doing this to you?'_ The dark-haired man thought as he allowed himself to be dragged around the buildings designed by Gaudí. His heart clenched as Viktor looked back at him, smiling once more, and Yuuri allowed himself to stop walking, pulling his companion to a halt as well, the other man looking at him, puzzled. "Yuuri?"

_'When you come to hate me, I hope there would be even just a single memory of us that would make you smile as you do right now.'_

Viktor looked him up and down, as if trying to figure out why Yuuri had simply stood still. Oddly enough, the dark-haired man felt much lighter, the arm carrying the colorful mess of bags less strained.

_'When you finally toss the thoughts of me away, I hope you'd let the feelings remain.'_

Viktor's eyebrows met at the middle all of a sudden, as if scrutinizing Yuuri. The Japanese man shook himself out of his internal monologue, mirroring the expression on his coach's face. "Is anything the matter, Viktor...?"

The silver-haired man cradled his chin between his gloved fingers, crossing his bag-filled hand under his other elbow. Like a flash, Viktor's face filled with horror as he nearly dropped his bags (Yuuri thanked his lucky stars  _he_ kept the mosaic lizards), mouth forming a sizeable 'o'.

"Where are the bag of nuts?!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, The Bag of Nuts is still one of the biggest mysteries unsolved in this anime.


	26. The Measure of a Man, The Measure of a Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Viktor have a heart to heart talk. Chris wasn't the only on Viktor had said talk with.
> 
> Suffice to say, it goes a bit too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Churning this one out a bit early! :D It's a bit short though...
> 
> I hope this chapter sheds some light in some areas of the story! I've been a bit hesitant to say this for the past few chapters, but the end is in sight!
> 
> I can estimate the ending to be on or before Chapter 30, I think that's just about right.
> 
> Thank you so much for following this fic, and I hope you all will see it through the (good) end.

"Only a Russian would be stupid enough to swim at a time like this."

 _'Apparently the Swiss are dumb too, if they plan on joining stupid Russians for a December swim.'_ Viktor retorted in his head, easily turning to Chris, who'd approached the pool carrying a bottle of champagne and a flute. The blonde man placed one fist on his hip, posing as he smirked at Viktor. "Bingo. Why hello there, Coach Viktor."

The Russian smiled as he pushed himself on his tiptoes. "Hey, Chris."

"And here I thought I could go skinny dipping."

Viktor scoffed, shifting his weight onto his other leg. "Don't let me stop you; I'll even take your pictures."

The two friends shared a hearty laugh as Chris stripped off his bathrobe, revealing himself to be in quite a daring piece of swimwear. Viktor let out a low whistle. "I hope Sandre knows you're out here wearing  _that_." He teased, shielding his eyes from the moderate splash from the Swiss' entry. "Where is he, anyway? Busy with the wedding preps?"

The blonde man smiled at him warmly, moving to lean against the poolside. "He's with Stéphane in my suite, sleeping most probably." Chris drawled, moving to do a lap across the pool. Viktor waded to the side, watching his friend's decent breast stroke. The Russian couldn't help but notice the skin-tone patch on Chris' left shoulder blade, and on instinct, his hand flew to the one on his right rib, among the other five that could be seen all over his torso.

"You're wearing an awful lot of those patches." Chris quipped as he stared at Viktor from the farther corner of the pool. "Did you suddenly grow too many now?"

A splash hit the Swiss in the face. "It's a privacy thing in Japan, everybody wears more than three patches so that nobody knows where their marks are." Viktor explained as he swam to his friend, putting a hand on the taller man's shoulder, just above the patch. "Personally, I don't see the use of it, since I already know who my match is, but Yuuri insists that it's for my own safety."

Chris' lips turned up at the corners, as if he were preventing a smile; slowly, the blonde raised his hand, ghosting his fingertips against the patch on Viktor's rib under the water. The Russian couldn't help but gaze into the Swiss' emerald eyes, half-obscured by the dark, thick lashes he was always so proud of. The smile had fallen completely, a frown forming on Chris' lips. "You couldn't just stay dreaming, couldn't you, Viktor?"

The silver-haired man bit his lip, a shaking hand placing itself over the palm against his torso. All he could see was a flurry of wet, blonde locks, Chris having bowed low enough for his forehead to hit Viktor's shoulder. "Sandre is a wonderful man." The Russian found himself saying, to which his friend responded with a bitter laugh.

"We are all  _very_ wonderful men, Vitya, and that's the problem."

"Chris..."

The taller of the two straightened himself, the smile on his face so forced that Viktor felt his own heart ache. "Have I ever told you about that cherubic boy who'd fallen head over heels in love with you?" Chris whispered, keeping his hand against his friend's warm skin. The Russian's eyebrows met cautiously in the middle, hesitance filling those beautiful pools of blue as the grasp on Chris' hand got tighter. The blonde simply shook his head, a draining feeling overcoming him as he pulled his hand away, resting it on his side. "I mustn't have, or else we wouldn't have gotten to be such good friends."

Viktor felt the need to wade away, put a little distance between them, but the pain painting Chris' face froze him in his place, unable to move until his friend let him out of his spell. The Swiss' low laugh tickled his ears, the Russian deciding that bitter acceptance was definitely not a look fitting Christophe Giacometti. "Do not flatter yourself too much, Nikiforov; my opinion has not changed, and Sandre is still the most fantastic partner I could ever ask for."

The Russian allowed himself a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he, for once, found no words to say. This was well and good, however, as Chris appeared to have enough words for the both of them that night. "But I can't help but wonder, can't help but think that blasted 'what if?'." Green eyes reflected morosely against the clear water, the shake of Chris' hands apparent despite being submerged. "What if I waited? What if I believed in this godforsaken soul marks?" He paused, baring his soul to Viktor, who'd stared at him, wide-eyed. "What if I let Sandre slip away that night after the banquet?"

Viktor's hands shot up from the water, grasping his friend's shoulders tightly as he pushed Chris to the pool's wall. The blonde gawked at him, not expecting the physicality of his response, unable to form anything more intelligible than a grunt. The silver-haired man rarely displayed anything beyond happiness and childish annoyance, even around him and their small group of friends, so when Viktor stared up at him, blue eyes burning with rage and the corner of his fine, plump lower lip twitching from self-restraint, Christophe Giacometti couldn't help himself if he felt  _scared_.

"Don't you dare, Chris." Viktor enunciated, each syllable emphasized by his unguarded accent.

_"I was pretty young when it appeared."_

_Viktor couldn't look at her, content (or maybe only strong enough) to gaze at the soft, roasted caramel-colored skin of her hand. Her voice held only the slightest hint of her native language's accent, the Georgian bend of her tongue softened by the years she spent in the United States. The woman had introduced herself as Ketty Abelashvili-Stone, a friend of Yuuri from Detroit, and the creator of Yuuri's iconic Free Skate music._

_"Must have been quite a surprise." Viktor responded lamely, too tired to smile. He just had come home from Russia and the veterinary clinic, after all, and he wasn't expecting to meet anyone new. He should have known, really, with how quiet Mari was during the entire ride from the airport to the_ onsen _, only speaking about a fan of Yuuri's who'd come to the inn with her husband. He'd thought it was only small talk, to get his mind off Makkachin, but Viktor had never been so wrong._

_"Yes, it was." Ketty responded, reaching out to put a hand on the Russian's shoulder. Finally he looked up, staring into the dark eyes of his companion. Viktor couldn't help but compare how blatant their differences were, gender aside; Ketty was petite, sun-kissed and had mysterious black eyes, dark thick, wavy hair ending in curls on her shoulders. Despite her exotic beauty, Viktor couldn't help but feel the need to move away, as if she could fell him any moment. "Yuuri does love you, I hope you know that."_

_Viktor sighed. "With no doubt in my mind."_

The warmth of Chris' eyes nearly made him falter, but the Russian persisted and held his ground. "Is Sandre worth so little that you couldn't help but dream of 'what ifs'?" He said lowly, trying to still the quake of his hands. "Is your love so shallow, Chris, that a simple  _mark_ makes you second guess what you want?!"

Chris grabbed Viktor's wrists to push him off, but the older man was stronger than his delicate features suggest, an unmovable rock against a wavering tide. "You don't understand." Chris whispered, voice broken as he finally succumbed to the older man's hold. "You don't understand what you were to me."

_"I've been gradually falling in love with my husband over the years, I think, but never too deeply." Ketty said as she pulled her legs up to her chest, looking at Viktor. She smiled as she noted the Russian's confused face. "Yuuri's never met him; Ben's a childhood friend, met him in Detroit when my family moved from Telavi, and we got along real well. At that time, we found solace in each other since we both had soul marks even when we weren't even in middle school yet, so we stuck together."_

_"Did you ever find his soulmate?" Viktor couldn't help but ask, raising his eyebrow as Ketty looked down sadly._

_"Ben's soulmate is a friend of ours." She said as she observed the confusion on Viktor's face. "You must be wondering why they didn't get together, why I'm the one sharing a pair of rings with Ben right now and not him, right?"_

_The silver-haired man nodded slowly, wishing not to speak until he's heard the entire story. Ketty laughed softly. "He was at the altar with us too, you know, that day we got married in the house of God."_

_The silence between them grew more companionable as Viktor allowed the new information to sink in. "Did your husband ever love his soulmate?" He asked, the question feeling more like an itch, and the shake of Ketty's head a slightly misplaced scratch._

_"No. Ben's no homophobe, but he's always preferred women. Our friend, however, preferred neither and religiously(she laughed a bit as she said that word, and Viktor found himself giggling to himself as well) set himself on a path to celibacy and priesthood. His love was pure and unconditional, for the God he believed with all his being." Ketty stopped, pressing her finger to her plump lip as she turned to Viktor happily. "He'd shown us his mark, and asked us to help him pray for forgiveness for leaving his match, assuring us that whomever had the misfortune of being paired with him would forever be in his prayers." She laughed again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand._

_**"And I told him that he'd better pray for me every single day for the rest of his life."** _

_Viktor looked up to the tall, blonde man with playful green eyes. "May I join you, Mr. Nikiforov?" Ben asked, sitting only when Viktor had nodded._

_"Please, call me Viktor."_

"You were my dream." Chris whispered, shamefully turning away as he moved to reach for the bottle of champagne. "You took the world by storm when you stood on the ice, bringing The Lilac Fairy to life, and along with it, you took the hearts of so many people, mine included."

The Russian bit his lip, because  _of course_ Chris just had to fall in love with him the exact same moment Yuuri did. "I always loved skating, but I drove myself up, working myself to the top because I wanted to meet you." Chris continued, opening the bottle with a pop, the cork falling into the pool gracelessly. Viktor swam to it, placing it on the poolside as the Swiss poured himself a drink. "It thought it was bittersweet, us two; you had a mark for more than ten years, and I've lived without one for all of my life, yet both of us were still alone."

"I was waiting for my soulmate." Viktor responded lamely, keeping the distance between them as he floated on his back, lazily moving his legs to keep himself afloat. Despite his friend's effort to stay away, Chris copied Viktor, pushing himself parallel to the Russian, careful not to hit him on the way. Blue eyes watched him from the corner, green meeting them sorrowfully.

"If I only knew, you would have never had to."

_Ketty and Ben were happy. It didn't take a genius to see the twinkles in their eyes, the warm love that emanated from each movement they made towards each other. Viktor hung onto her every word, digesting the story of their union, allowing the crushed light of hope in his heart to flicker back to life._

_"I thought I was being unfair, that somewhere out there, my match had been waiting for as long as I had." The woman said, playing with the patch on her right wrist, a_ kizuna engo _Mari had nearly begged her to wear the moment she saw Ketty enter the inn. "But it's destiny that brought these marks to us, is it not? Then it must be destiny that brought me to Detroit that day, allowed me to fall in love with Ben gradually through the years, and fully only after he was free that December night." Boldly, Ketty reached for Viktor's hand, encasing it in her darker, much smaller ones. Despite being obviously younger, her eyes bore into the Russian's with the wisdom that came with age. "We don't know why we have these marks, why we can live without being with our match or even knowing who they are, but not everything can be so simple, can be so clear-cut. Humans are not a game of Memory, we don't always need to end with two matching marks to win."_

_Ben nodded, placing his hand over Ketty's and Viktor's, smiling warmly at them. "You love him immensely." He said simply, tightening his grip. "Don't tell me you're simply going to toss all that aside just because of a different mark."_

_Viktor didn't speak, but there was no doubt that he agreed wholeheartedly._

"You're getting married in ten days, and you're throwing all that away for  _me_?" The Russian said, emotionless, as he stared into the night sky.

"I've loved you for all the years I've known you."

Viktor's breath hitched. "Until Sandre came into your life." He added, stunning Chris silent.

"Yes." The Swiss finally responded, "Until you introduced Lysandre to me."

The Russian stood up, placing a hand on Chris' shoulder, urging the other man to right himself as well. As the two stared into each other's eyes, the older offered an exhausted smile. "Just because it started with me, doesn't mean it has to end with me too." He whispered, willing his voice to gain, at the very least, the tone of maturity needed in a situation like his, as futile as it was. "I met her, you know?"

The Swiss' eyebrows met in a confused look. "Who?"

He couldn't help it if his smile was more broken than it should have been, but Viktor decided that between him and his best friend, at least for that night, everything said would have been the truth.

"Yuuri's match."

_"Do you want to see the mark, Viktor?" Ketty asked, turning to her husband, who'd had his arms around her waist. The Russian, obviously surprised, was quick to decline._

_"Oh, I mustn't." He responded, only to be met with a scoff from Ben. "No, really; I don't want to intrude in on... it."_

_Ketty shook her head, something akin to a mother patiently explaining to her child. Viktor felt as if he were under the caring eyes of his grandmother, for some reason. "It's my mark, you know; if I let you, it's an invitation, not an intrusion."_

_Ben coaxed him on. "Aren't you curious as to what it looks like, at least?" He asked, and Viktor wondered how the couple was able to emanate such care and kindness, so very willing to help a stranger understand such a bizarre situation. He didn't speak, but Viktor supposed the genuine curiosity and eagerness were so very present in his eyes that Ketty was quick to turn her right hand wrist up, peeling off the_ kizuna engo _slowly._

_The Russian almost wept as a small pair of silver wings glinted under the moonlight, a stark contrast to the dark lines of the snowflake and the brown of Ketty's skin. "You have a beautiful mark." He whispered in awe, mind reeling as he imagined the image on his Yuuri, recalling all the places he'd seen him wear patches over. "Can I touch it?" Viktor asked, turning to Ben more than his wife, the man laughing softly at his hesitance._

_"Be my guest, it's not like you're playing for the same field."_

_At that, the silver-haired man couldn't help but chuckle to himself, reaching out to Ketty's hand, two fingers outstretched. He mentally scolded himself when he flinched as the tips of his digits connected to her colored wrist, the irrational part of his brain wondering how a snowflake could feel so_ warm _. "Don't be scared," The woman laughed, her other hand over her mouth. "Really, Viktor, it's okay. You've never seen it, so it's understandable that you're shocked."_

 _Viktor nodded as he pressed his fingers a little bit harder, feeling the soft cartilage and the pulse on Ketty's wrist. A barely-there, yet constant beat played against his touch, and Viktor couldn't help but touch his right rib, feeling his own, much more erratic rhythm against his palm. He suddenly felt oddly at peace, closing his travel-tired eyes, if only to feel just their heartbeats alone; the beats never did sync, but the Russian didn't have to try hard to imagine that it was Yuuri's heart he was feeling._ 'Ah, I'm lucky after all.'  _He thought to himself as warmth enveloped his body._

Chris' face contorted into a mix of hysterical weeping and laughter, unintelligible sounds that reminded Viktor of his childhood nightmares filling their ears. "You're scaring me, Chris; have you finally lost it?" Viktor asked hesitantly. The taller man simply waved him off, wiping tears from his eyes. When the Swiss offered no response, the silver-haired man approached him once more, a comforting hand on Chris' damp shoulder. "Chris, you're my best friend, and I would always,  _always_ want the best for you." He paused for a moment, offering his friend a small smile. "Sandre makes you happy, I've seen the gradual but certain changes from the beginning of your relationship, culminating to the union that you both agreed to pursue. You will not find that happiness with me, Chris."

A beat passed and Viktor almost found him drowning when Chris threw himself onto the shorter man, enveloping him in a tight and somewhat awkward half-naked hug, which his companion readily returned. "Isn't it a bit too early to recite your Man of Honor speech?" The Swiss joked with a tear-broken voice, feeling his nose being tickled by Viktor's hair as the latter laughed soundlessly. "You're right,  _merde_ , you're right. I feel so cheap and stupid." He laughed a bit harder, squeezing the Russian in his arms. "Forgive me, Vitya, and thank you. You don't have to worry, it's clear to me that I would choose Sandre over and over again, if I had to."

Viktor pulled away, keeping Chris at an arm's length so that the taller man could see his eyes. "You'd make an excellent groom."

The Swiss' smile widened as his eyes got mellower, the man unable to help pulling his friend into another embrace. "And you'd make an excellent groom yourself."

Chris pulled back and winked at him, Viktor cocking his head to the side. The Swiss simply rolled his eyes. "How is it that you are sagely insightful and yet so  _painfully_ dense?" He asked, poking Viktor's chest, staring into the blues of his eyes expectantly. When all Chris got was that confused pout of his that could cause a thousand pantie (or brief) drops, he threw his hand against his forehead as dramatically as he could. "Hopefully when it's your turn, you won't forget to name me your Best Man, so that I can talk you out of panicking over your wedding someday as well."

The Russian simply offered a small smile before looking down at their reflections. "Nobody would be a better fit." He said, holding out his hand for a shake.

_"Why are you still here?"_

_Viktor turned away from the sky, looking back at Mari who'd taken her place by the sliding doors. "Oh I was hoping to bid Ketty and Ben goodbye-"_

_"No. I mean here, at the_ onsen _. Why are you still here?"_

_"Marichan, I don't think I follow-"_

_"He lied to you."_

_The chirps of the cicadas grew louder with their silence, Viktor's eyes never changing from the half-lidded gaze he'd held ever since his talk with the couple ended. Annoyed with his silence, Mari marched towards him and pulling Viktor up by his collar. The Silver-haired man couldn't make himself feel anything but exhaustion at that point, so the blankness of his face served to infuriate Mari even more. "I found this in his room." The woman produced a folded set of pre-cut temporary gold Polaris tattoos. "Leave it to my idiot brother to find the most difficult path to fool you."_

_Viktor's lips visibly curled down at the corners as he took in Mari's accusations._ 'His love is very real, though,' _The Russian thought to himself, proud that he was able to muster a smile for Yuuri's sister, albeit a weak one. "It's so very Yuuri to beat himself over something for this long."_

 _Mari was not amused. "Viktor, my brother tricked you. He made you,_ us _, believe that you were soulmates." She deadpanned, staring at the gold stars, the urge to crumple them too hard to resist._

_"To be fair," Viktor responded, taking the sheet of temporary tattoos from her, "I unearthed myself from Saint Petersburg and moved here as soon as I was able to, without any assurance that he was my match." The man paused to look back up in the sky, placing the golden sheet on the floor he was sitting on. "I love Yuuri; I loved him even then, mark or no mark." Softly, he added. "Does that make me a bad person as well?"_

_Mari didn't miss a beat. "It just makes you an idiot." She said with finality. In one fluid motion, the older woman ruffled Viktor's hair, to the taller man's surprise, and went back in. Viktor allowed himself to smile one more time._

***

"Sandre, I swear to God, if you don't toss that heaven-forsaken thing now,  _I will_."

Heavy eyes be damned, Lysandre opened his with great effort, reaching for his blaring phone with a stiff arm.

**_Chris <3_ is calling.**

"It's Chris." The brunette muttered, turning to Stéphane, who was buried in a mound of blankets and comforters. The shorter brunette shot him a dirty look.

"It's  _midnight_ and I have been awake for more than  _thirty six_ hours, Lysandre Desrosiers. Chris is  _nothing_ to me until I get to close my eyes for ten hours. Straight, preferably."

The taller man let out a low whistle. "That's not the only 'straight' thing you want, Stéphane." He teased, earning a face full of pillow not a second later.

"Answer the bloody thing!"

Laughing to himself, Lysandre brought the phone to his ear. "Hello, my love," He said, earning a loud groan reminiscent of a singing whale from the other bed. The Frenchman scoffed at his friend, leaning into his own warm pillow. Sleep, however, became much more elusive when the urgency of Chris' voice filled his ears.

_"Sandre, quick, it's Vitya!"_

"W-what about Viktor!?" Sandre responded, jumping out of bed and bolting to the door, wearing nothing but his pajamas and the hotel slippers. Despite Stéphane's initial grumpiness, the other man was also on his feet and ready to run after Sandre at the mention of the Russian's name.

_"At the pool... quick! Viktor..."_

"What's going on with Viktor?!" Stéphane demanded as they raced down the hall to the pool area. Lysandre shot him a helpless look.

"The line was breaking up before it went completely dead! Chris was shouting about Viktor and the pool!" He cried as he pocketed his phone, wasting no time barreling into the pool area door.

Right upon entry, all the worry and adrenaline left the two Frenchmen's bodies, replaced with murderous intent when they found their dearest friends sitting on the pool side and wearing sunglasses (at night!), legs spread up at eye level, as if to boast about their flexibility. The blonde turned to them first. "Sandre! How nice of you to bring Stéphane! Quick, take a picture of us in this position for IG!"

The air behind Lysandre instantly went cold, and as he slowly turned to Stéphane, the man was quick to back away, biting his lip. The smaller man's eye bags looked more prominent in the pool area's lighting, his stubble looking more defined than it really was. As the shorter brunette's lips curved into an ill-meaning smile, the taller of the two couldn't help but shoot Viktor and Chris a worried glance. "Looks like you'll be a widower twice over."

"Stéphane, no!"

***

_"Where are you going?"_

_The Russian turned to Mari, who looked as if she were ready to go out, car keys in hand. Bashfully, Viktor scratched the back of his neck as he turned to her. "I was going to pick Makkachin up, so we could go wait for Yuuri at the airport."_

_"I'm picking him up. You stay here."_

_The man pouted, head hanging low. "It might be better if Makkachin and I go, though." He pushed, wondering if he'd be incurring Mari's wrath anything soon. "He made it, but he'd done quite poorly at the Free Skate. I just want to make sure he's okay."_

_Mari scoffed. "Karma at its finest." She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you not angry with him, even just a little bit?"_

_His head fell lower, if it were possible. "Angry might be too singular, too strong an emotion for what I'm feeling." He whispered as he touched his rib. "Sadness? Disappointment? Confusion, maybe, but happiness too... I'm feeling so many different emotions right now that it's making my head hurt." He made his way towards Mari, putting his hands on her shoulders. "All I know is, I want to see Yuuri. The answers to my questions, to my feelings, they aren't here; they're currently on a plane from Saint Petersburg, and I can only imagine the state of the man holding them. So please, Marichan, let me be the one to welcome him home. You can scold Yuuri all you want when we get here, but at least let me hug him first."_

_A scarf hit him in the face, the bushy blonde of the back of Mari's hair the only thing he saw before she disappeared. With a wistful smile, Viktor put on his shoes and raced out of the inn. Ketty and Ben's words filled his mind as he made his way to Makkachin._

_"We're not a game of Memory." Viktor reminded himself with a wider smile, regaining the signature joy the people of Hasetsu had known him for. "I'll wait, Yuuri; until you're ready."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is a flashback chapter.
> 
> Also, shout out to MysteriousEntityIsHereToLoveYou! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! If you guys have time, please shoot her a birthday greeting! For those who don't know, this story began from a prompt on her Tumblr. This prompt has gotten far. (I think I mentioned it in Chapter 11: Lost Yuuri?) <3 :D How do you tag people here
> 
> Prompt: http://mysteriousentityisheretoloveyou.tumblr.com/post/154934070229/prompt


	27. The Beginning of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two rings, two different meanings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may hurt a bit more.

They got  _too_ riled up over a bag of nuts.

Viktor knew, like most people, that if he left a bag of anything unattended for hours on end, chances are, he'd never get it back. The last time he saw that bag of nuts, the sun was still up in the sky; as the Russian gazed up, the stars twinkled at him, the moon slowly becoming visible. Sighing to himself, he followed Yuuri back to the bench, for the fifth time, where he allegedly left the bag. Suffice to say, it  _still_ wasn't there. "Try to recall it, Yuuri; it was a brown bag with a green print." Viktor offered helpfully, internally hoping that his student would just cut their losses (which they should have done  _hours ago_ ) and forget about the nuts.

Viktor felt for the smooth box in his pocket, feeling a teeny bit of comfort from its presence.  _'At least I didn't lose this,'_ He thought, thumbing over the embossed letters of Maria Dolores.

_"Viktor, I'm running late, there's a lot more people and cars in Hasetsu."_

_The Russian frowned with worry. He'd already received the messages from Mari that Makkachin was fine, that he was recovering quickly, but the man would not rest until he saw for himself. "Oh. What's going on?" Viktor asked, noting that there were a lot more people moving around the airport than usual._

_"You just arrived in the middle of Hasetsu Kunchi; we kinda get a whole lot more tourists around this time." Mari responded, sounding more stressed than usual. "Just go around the duty free shops for a bit; expect me in an hour. I'm really sorry, Viktor."_

_"No, no, I should be thanking you for taking the time to get me." The Russian responded, taken aback at how Mari he sounded all of a sudden before ending the call. Looking around, Viktor gazed at the entrance to the duty free shop, noting the odd presence of a few, angry-looking fish with their tails up decorating the ceiling. "Strange." He muttered to himself as he made his way in._

_Viktor wasn't really looking for anything, just passing the time when he stopped in front of a small, but elegant store in royal blue hues. "Ah, It's Maria Dolores," He whispered to himself as he mindlessly went in, nodding lightly as the shopkeeper greeted him in her accented English. As rude as it was, Viktor paid her no mind as he gazed at the jewelry present in the store, all encased in spotless glass boxes. The Russian was never one for jewelry, satisfied with his small yet impressive collection of luxury watches, but who's to say that he didn't appreciate all the precious metals and gems that served no other purpose than to delight?_

_"Is it an engagement ring you're looking for, Sir?" The lady asked, eyes eager to assist. The man felt a bit guilty for ignoring her, but put on a relaxed smile._

_"Something like it," He responded, turning to a simple gold band under the **Wedding Rings**_   _section. "Something simple, but looks sturdy; I'm giving it to the strongest and bravest person I've ever met."_

_The saleslady's cheeks colored pleasantly as she swooned at Viktor's declaration. "That's so romantic!" She exclaimed, moving to the rings in Viktor's line of sight. "Does this person like dazzling designs, any particular birth stone they might prefer?"_

_The Russian rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger as he tried to recall if Yuuri were particular with any gemstone, finding nothing but his immense love for skating and for_ katsudon _._ 'Hopefully, me as well.'  _He thought with a chuckle, leaning over the glass carefully as he admired the gold and silver bands. "This person doesn't like to stand out, but he's never let me down, never proven me wrong about him." Looking at the woman, VIktor continued. "Not much can be said about him on first glance, but I've only ever had multitudes of praise and gratefulness as I got to know him."_

_Understandingly, the lady nodded. "I think I know what you want." She stated, moving behind the glass box to retrieve one of the rings on display, handing something quite simple onto the silver-haired man's hand. She seemed to had wanted Viktor to find it out himself, but the lady was more eager to gush to him rather than be coy. "It doesn't look all that much on the outside!" She exclaimed, blushing when she realized how wrong it sounded. "B-but! If you look inside the band, there's a little surprise!"_

_"Oh, a surprise, I see!" The man chuckled, inspecting the inside of the ring, noting what looked like a braid of ropes forming infinity loops. "Oh, there's a carved loop of infinity symbols!"_

_"Not just!" The girl responded excitedly, taking out the ring's pamphlet with a blown-up picture of the interior. "The creator made it so that he'd craft the infinity loops looking like interwoven thread." Viktor nodded as he looked at the picture closer, cheering himself internally for knowing that it was rope after all. "He said that relationships are like ropes."_

_The man raised his eyebrow, urging the woman to continue. "We need so many things for a relationship to work, right? We need love, trust, strength, all of that! Trust isn't enough, strength isn't enough, even love won't be enough." As her voice softened, she took her ponytail from behind, dividing her silky black hair into three. "When there's only one piece of rope, it breaks too easy with pressure. But," She started braiding her thin locks, and suddenly Viktor knew what she would say next before her lips even parted._

_"It's perfect!" He blurted out, not even waiting for the woman to finish her spiel. To her credit, she didn't look the least put off, simply smiling warmly at him as she let her half-finished braid go._

_"I hope you know his ring size, then." She said playfully as she brought Viktor to the counter._

"I'll go buy another bag!" Yuuri decidedly said, already moving to the direction of the nut shop when his coach decided to put his foot down.

"It's most probably closed by now." He said, despite knowing full well that six o'clock in the evening was too early for a shop in a busy area to close up. To be honest, he really didn't want to spend any more time trying to locate nuts he didn't really care too strongly about; he was too busy trying to think of a way to get the nut in front of him to stop moving and accept his gift. Viktor gave Yuuri an exhausted (and somewhat petty) smile. "You must be tired, right? Let's just go back to the hotel."  _Maybe then I can finally show you this ring, damn it._

Instead of the usually meek and apologetic response, the Japanese man scowled at him and marched right into his face. "You don't have to say it that way!" He retorted, most definitely annoyed. Viktor would have found it absolutely adorable if he weren't so nearly pissed off.

"Then  _I'm_ tired."

And truly he was. He was so tired of running around in circles, tired of waiting for Yuuri (he was loathe to admit that if he simply waited until the man was ready, they'd  _never_ get anywhere), and tired of, well, being tired. The stare off he was having with his student wasn't helping his thinning patience either. In the end, he caved, sighing as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "God, I need a drink." He muttered, unable to stop himself from letting out an airy laugh after seeing Yuuri's worried expression. "There's a night market that way; it's not too far from the hotel, so let's make a detour, shall we?"

Yuuri's smile was too precious and Viktor nearly forgot why he was exasperated in the first place.

"This reminds me a bit of Nakasu." The Japanese man noted when they entered the night market area. Stalls abound the place, neatly lining up on the sides of the walkway, giving enough space for all the patrons and passersby to make their way comfortably. There were stores selling churros, spiced hot chocolate and various meats, but there were also some that had some hard drinks.

"That it does," Viktor responded with a small smile, pulling Yuuri to the hot wine stand.

***

"You're birthday's coming up soon, right?"

Viktor pretended not to be too surprised; it wasn't hard to remember his birthday since it did fall on Christmas day, after all. Then again, he rarely got to celebrate it since it fell right into a very festive week, and he wasn't allowed to have a party before the date. He remembered Yakov warning him gravely that if he celebrated his birthday in advance, the Angels would get angry and he won't make it to his actual birthday.

Or worse, to the Nationals.

 _'Best not to anger them,'_ The Russian scoffed as he turned to his smiling student. "What would you like as a present?" Yuuri suddenly asked.

 _'You-'_ Viktor caught himself thinking, biting the inside of his cheek as he realized that he shouldn't get his present early either. With a noncommittal hum, he answered, "We don't really celebrate birthdays before the date." Yuuri visibly deflated, turning away.

"Oh."

Viktor almost laughed at how much his student resembled a kicked puppy at that point, and wondered if he should tease him and share about the Russian superstition. However, the man was obviously occupied, eyes scanning the stalls and shops in his line of sight. The coach allowed himself a fond smile.  _'You, only you, really,'_ He thought as he gazed at Yuuri's shifting gaze, making the Japanese man appear like a human dowsing rod.  _'I'd never want another birthday present if I get to keep you for the rest of my life.'_

Suddenly, Yuuri stiffened to a halt, ears turning bright red at the drop of a hat. Viktor was about to ask when the man made a mad dash to a store's display window, pressing his nose against the glass and muttering soft, nearly unintelligible Japanese. The Russian came closer and looked up, eyes widening as he recognized the cursive writing on an elegant blue background.

Maria Dolores.

 _'What could he be doing...?!'_ The silver-haired coach fretted as Yuuri all but dragged him inside the jewelry shop, completely ignoring the saleslady welcoming them in. Viktor was hit with a strong case of déjà vu, a dizzy spell coming over him as his student quickly made his way to the display box of wedding rings.  _'Is he... would he...?!'_

"Can I see these two please?" The Japanese man requested urgently, pointing to two different rings, a silver one studded with tiny diamonds, and a simple gold one with infinity loops on the inside that Viktor could recognize from a mile away. He stood frozen in place as Yuuri scrutinized the two rings, wondering what brought his student's behavior on, considering how the man had reacted every time Viktor so much as hinted that he was going to try and propose. Biting his lip, the silver-haired man tried to think of a different reason,  _any_ reason, why they were currently at a jeweler's, why Yuuri was inspecting two  _wedding rings_.  _'_ Bozhe moi... _'_ Viktor thought, feeling his heart race a hundred miles per second.

He almost had a heart attack when Yuuri chose that same gold ring with the braided rope infinity loop design on the inside, and handed it to the clerk for purchase. Even more so, Viktor was surprised that Yuuri  _knew_ his ring size. _'Am I dreaming?!'_ His mind screamed, especially when his student pulled out his credit card, placing it on the receipt.

"I'll pay for this in installments."

 _'_ ** _I'll_  ** _pay for this in installments for the **rest of my life**.' _ Viktor thought, feeling his heart stop when Yuuri turned back to him, all red in the face, neck and ears. The dark-haired man  _even had the audacity_ to smile so very cutely at him. Viktor wanted to punch him in the mouth, preferably with his lips. "I-I want to go somewhere, if that's okay?"

 _'Anywhere. Yes, a thousand rimes over.'_ Viktor gulped, nodding as he didn't trust himself to speak. They were out of the store and on the road once more in no time, Yuuri already on his Maps app as they made their way to a choir. The man's brown eyes lit up, molten amber as he gazed up at the lights from the Barcelona Cathedral. Turning to Viktor, the Japanese skater motion him to stand by the cathedral gates. "The ambiance here is nice," He said shyly, looking at the bright lights. "You're so quiet, Viktor; don't tell me I'm scaring you."

His tongue felt like cotton as Viktor struggled to moisten his mouth, coughing into his fist as he tried to regain his voice. "This is really quite sudden, Yuuri; I hope you understand my surprise."

The other giggled, and the Russian couldn't even find the strength to react anymore, his face falling into a stiff mask as he tried to sort out his emotions. Even as Yuuri took his hand, removed the glove and placed the ring on his finger, Viktor's face stayed frozen despite all the internal screaming in his mind that had rendered him both paralyzed and possibly deaf. "Thank you for everything up until now." Yuuri said, barely a whisper, as he stared at the ring on Viktor's finger. "I wanted to give you something, I couldn't think of anything more suitable."

Viktor had  _had_ enough.

 _'You'll probably tell me in your own time, but know that I will think no less of you.'_ The Russian thought as he took Yuuri's hand in his, skillfully retrieving his own ring from the box in his pocket with one hand. The blue-eyed man internally cheered when he saw his student's surprise, molten amber widening as he realized that they've gotten the exact same piece. "All right then." Viktor said, slipping the ring onto Yuuri's finger. "Tomorrow, show me the skating that you can honestly say you liked best."  _To hell with the gold medal; I'm **marrying** you as soon as you say yes._

The choir sang pleasantly not too far away, a perfect background music to Yuuri's flushing face. "I-I'm sorry I took so long." The Japanese man stuttered as he held up the hand with the ring on it. "This is my good luck charm now! I-I think I can do better tomorrow while I wear it."

Viktor merely smiled. "You don't need it." He said gently, taking Yuuri's hand and kissing the knuckles. "You've come so far."

Yuuri shook his head. "Only because of you."

The shorter man found his face pressed flush against his coach's luxury scarf. "I didn't see myself skating in the Cup of China and the Rostelecom Cup. Did you?"

Yuuri did not speak, but the shy grin on his face was enough for Viktor. As he held his student's hand firmly in his own, the silver-haired coach leaned in to place a kiss on the forehead, lingering there until he felt the man pushing against him gently. With a chuckle, Viktor disconnected his lips from Yuuri's skin, only to meet forehead to forehead so that he could see the man's eyes. "I love you,  _solnyshko_." He whispered tenderly, pulling the Japanese man's hand up to his lips for a soft peck. Viktor kept his eyes low and half-lidded, looking only at Yuuri's knuckles.

Yuuri didn't need to know that Viktor caught the usual flash of fear and uncertainty in his brown eyes whenever he heard those three words.

Yuuri didn't need to see the usual flash of hurt and resignation from Viktor's eyes whenever he wasn't able to say them back.

***

"Oh look, isn't that Marichan and Minako?"

Yuuri felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of his sister, who, with Minako, was most definitely in front of them, ogling something-or someone- from a restaurant window. The shorter man raised his eyebrow in confusion but opted not to ask, wondering if Viktor would let him steer clear of them until after the GPF. Mari and he, after all, still weren't in speaking terms. Unfortunately for him, the two women had turned and spotted them, Minako flying over to him with a hug, Mari looking at them blankly, not even moving an inch. The Japanese man figured he'd deal with Mari later, since Minako's wild-eyed gaze seemed more of an important matter at that point.

"Yuuri! I need a favor!" She said excitedly, as if her request didn't include calling nearly all of Yuuri's competitors to have dinner with them at an alfresco restaurant downtown. Phichit, of course, was too easy to agree and had made incredible time in finding them; Chris needed no telling twice as well, arriving via taxi a few minutes before the Thai skater.

Yuri and Otabek were the people Minako and Mari were spying on from the restaurant, the former not at all shy at displaying his displeasure from being watched. The Kazakh, however, had a much more leveled head, easily calming the Russian with a hand on his shoulder, to which Yuri had adorably blushed at, but Yuuri had no death wish so he didn't mention it. The blonde boy still glared daggers at him and Viktor, but nonetheless agreed to eating dinner with them, albeit begrudgingly. Yuuri simply sighed and let it go, easily falling back to the comfortable conversation the group had (minus Yuri) about Barcelona. At one point, Yuuri felt a foot nudge at his shoe, nearly missing Yuri's cue to follow him away from the table. "O-oh, I'll go to the men's room," The Japanese man stammered, inelegantly trailing after the Russian.

Away from earshot and line of sight, Yuri pulled Yuuri to one of the toilet stalls, locking them in. 'Y-Yurio!?" The older man squeaked, quieting upon the receipt of a death glare. "What are we doing in here?!" He whispered through gritted teeth. The boy immediately pulled him down by the collar and whispered to his ear.

"I found my soulmate."

Yuuri pulled away, banging his back against the steel door of the cubicle, as if he were burnt by Yuri's declaration. The boy, at the very least, had the decency to blush and be more demure about it. "O-Oh! That's g-great, Yurio." He found himself saying automatically, biting his lip as he shrunk under Yuri's gaze. The boy didn't speak yet, looking as unsure and lost as Yuuri felt, and the older man swore he could hear his heartbeat through their silence. Awkwardly, the Japanese man tried to listen in on the outside, embarrassment filling all his exposed skin with red as he anticipated being found in one of the cubicles  _with a child._ He figured that there was no time like the present to get away from potential arrest. "Um, if that's all, uh, I'd like to get back-"

"I'm sorry."

The dark-haired man shut up, suddenly less afraid of the police and more interested in what Yuri had to say. The boy, after all, apologized as often as he admitted looking up to either him or Viktor, and truly it was the very first time the Japanese man had heard those words from his voice. "I was stupid and lashed out on you." Green eyes bore into Yuuri's brown ones, the ferocity they always held simmering to a gentle glow. "I  _hated_ soulmates, the idea that people with the same mark are forced to love each other until they're sick of it." Looking away, he continued. "But that's hypocritical of me, especially since I lashed out on you when you trusted me enough to tell me that you didn't know if you and Viktor were a match."

The taller of the too gulped guiltily, shifting from one sole to another as he kept his peace while Yuri spoke. "I've spoken with my grandfather, and after meeting Otabek, after finding out that he was my soulmate, I've found out some things that I really should have known from the start." Yuuri couldn't help but indulge him, seeing Yuri's shy smile making his inquiry worth it.

"What could those be?"

"That we have an absolute, irrevocable choice on the matter, mark or no mark." Yuri whispered, biting his lip. "When Otabek saved me earlier today, I felt so many things, more than I knew what to do with. I was scared, confused,  _angry_ (Yuuri almost commented on how Yuri was  _always_ angry), and weirdly enough, happy and content. Being with him felt warm and fun, even if he's a total dork and took me to that trippy park with the weird, gigantic rainbow lizard. Almost gave me a heart attack, that fucker."

"Oh, that's El Drac. He's popular here."

Yuri simply blinked at him before restoring his face to the usual sneer. "Weird."

Taking it as the end of their conversation, Yuuri placed his hand on the lock, carefully listening if there were others in the restroom. "I'll go back first, okay? It might look weird..."

"Take care of him."

It took all his strength not to stumble out of the door in an unflattering heap. Slowly, Yuuri turned back to the blonde Russian, who had an unimpressed gaze on him. "What?" Yuri spat, crossing his arms against his chest. "Just because you're all innocent and kind doesn't mean you won't get the shovel talk. Viktor's been waiting for love for all his damn life, and I'll have you know that I have been subject to his unrelenting pining for almost half as mine. So please, for the love of God,  _do not_ hurt this man, so help me- Yuuri?"

The boy almost bit his tongue after noting the fat tears on Yuuri's face, cascading down to the floor with inaudible plops. Yuri was immediately guilt-ridden, grabbing both of the Japanese man's hands and shaking them for good measure. "Hey, Pork Cutlet Bowl! What's wrong?! Stop crying, damn it! Viktor's gonna kill me-"

A giggle from the older man silenced him, confusion setting onto the boy's face. Yuuri was still definitely sniffling, but he was also trying to muffle his laughter. "Are you crazy?" The blonde asked lowly, letting go of Yuuri's hands.

"N-no, I just find it funny, how we always find ourselves in this predicament, you shouting at me as I cry in a bathroom stall."

"That's because you're a wuss and a crybaby." Yuri pointed out, equal parts relieved and annoyed. "What did I do this time to make you cry like that?"

"It's... it's a long story."

"We've got time."

Yuuri looked at him incredulously. "In the bathroom stall? No way, Yurio; I'm not getting arrested tonight, thank you very much."

The boy rolled his eyes. "The only person getting arrested tonight would be  _me_ , asshole, because if you don't spill, I'll murder your sorry ass."

The bob of Yuuri's Adam's apple confirmed that the blonde Russian had made his point across very clearly. Almost instantly, the tears were back again, Yuri gritting his teeth at his waning confidence. "Oh, no, not again Pork Cutlet Bowl. Speak."

"I made a mistake." Yuuri blurted out, voice breaking from crying. "I've done something really horrible and now I can't take it back."

'What the fuck?" Yuri growled, taken aback by the confession.

"I-I saw Viktor's mark." Yuuri cried, sobs punctuating his words pitifully as he covered his face with his fists. "I hoped,  _I fucking hoped_ , that he was mine."

The door protested loudly as Yuuri was banged against it, Yuri's shaking fists gripping his collar dangerously. The older man whimpered helplessly as the younger shot him oddly wet death glares. "You told me before that I shouldn't be angry with him." The boy said slowly, tightening his hold. "What do you mean by that?"

"I-I..." Yuuri choked, reaching for his pants, opting to pull them down slightly. Yuri, getting the wrong idea right off the bat, let him go immediately, posing as if to ready to punch. Panic set in with grief in the Japanese man's mind. "W-wait! I need to show you something."

"This better not be some perverted way out, Pork Cutlet Bowl."

"No!"

Yuri nodded, looking at Yuuri's waist with a blush, watching intently as the older man revealed two patches on his hips. Peeling them slowly, the urge to punch Yuuri came back tenfold, especially when the flaking gold Polaris stared at Yuri like an old friend. In an instant, Yuuri was pushed against the door once more, pinned against it by the blonde's piercing glare more than his scrawny hands. "You have half a minute to explain before I pummel you to the ground." Yuri growled through gritted teeth. "I'm not bluffing; I don't care if ISU bans me from competing ever  _again_ ; if you say the wrong thing, Viktor won't even have a face to look at."

"I-I love him, Yurio." The older man whimpered, the strength of his emotions present despite the weakness of his voice. "There was never a time that I didn't honestly love him."

Yuri looked away. "Before or after I left?"

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, confused, earning another push from the smaller skater. "This shit you've got tattooed on your hip, jackass, did you get it before or after I left?"

"After. Much,  _much_ after."

"You lied about this, why would you be telling the truth now?"

Yuuri bit his lip, a fresh batch of tears falling onto Yuri's hands. "Because I will end it." The man whispered. "I'm prepared to accept all the hate and pain you want to inflict on me, because Viktor will come out hurt. I'll break up with him, and I'll do it so painfully he'd never want to be near me again."

Yuri's hands fell from the older man's collar, the shock on his face turning bland, green eyes dulling as he looked at their shoes. "That's it? You're not going to fight for it?" He whispered, as if he were unsure of what he was saying.

"It's the right thing to do."

"Right."

Silence befell them before Yuuri moved to unlock the stall once more. "I'll go wash my face, you go back to the table, okay? They'll be wondering where we went." He said kindly, exiting the cubicle with little resistance. Yuri unfroze the moment he heard water running, sparing one glance at the Japanese skater who was hunched over a sink, before leaving quietly.

***

"Hey, Otabek."

The Kazakh turned to Yuri, who'd been oddly quiet ever since he left the bathroom. Even after Chris and Viktor revealed Yuuri's less than decent antics at the Sochi GPF banquet, the boy had only piped in once, just to insist that he was forced into a dance battle. Viktor had turned to him and showed him a few of the Japanese man's pictures on his phone, and Otabek was quick to decide that he should never,  _never_ judge a book by its cover. "Yes?"

"What if I told you that I lied and my mark isn't the same as yours?"

Otabek stared at him, eyes widening as Yuri squirmed beneath his gaze. "But Yuri, you showed me your mark in the bathroom." The dark-haired man pointed out. The blonde boy threw his hands up in exasperation.

"What if it's just a tattoo?!"

"Last I check, there are no safe metallic tattoos-"

"It's a fucking  _rub-on_ , happy!?"

The older boy's eyebrows met in confusion, his companion's sudden, wild outburst. Impatient with Otabek's silence, Yuri pressed on. "What would you do?"

"Well, I'll ask you why you did it."

The boy looked as if he was ready to pull his hair out. "Well, what if I tell you that I did because I wanted you to think I was your soulmate?!"

The Kazakh simply blinked. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?!"

"I mean, why do you want me to think you're my soulmate?"

The boy was quickly silenced, his bottom lip curling into his mouth as he bit it. "Would you believe me if I tell you that I did it because I loved you?" He murmured.

Yuri almost socked Otabek in the mouth when the other man's face broke into an uncharacteristic and honestly strange grin. "I didn't think you'd be one to fall easily."

The punch went to the Kazakh's arm instead. "Fucker, it's just a hypothesis." Yuri growled, face impossibly red. "Now stop playing around and answer me seriously! What would you do?"

"Well, I love you back, so I'll love you still, naturally."

"See? That's what I thought too, so- wait. You'll love me still?"

Otabek nodded, and he wondered why the blonde looked absolutely floored. "Why do you look so surprised? Do I really look like the type to drop you? I wanted to be your friend first, you know." The man stopped, rubbing his chin.

The blonde began to think so hard the Kazakh almost could hear the gears turning. Otabek tried to recall anything that may have triggered the questions from the Russian, everything coming together when he recalled the rings on Viktor and Yuuri's fingers. With a reassuring smile, the man said, "If you're worried about me asking you to marry you anytime soon, don't fret; we're still both very young for that and I intend to win you over the years before I even try to propose to you."

"O-Otabek!!"

The Kazakh gladly took another punch to the shoulder.

As they drove back to the hotel in silence, Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek's torso, nuzzling his back through the leather jacket. "That damn JJ and his ugly-ass girlfriend just had to come and ruin the moment." He muttered, making the older man chuckle.

"That's mean, Yuri; I don't think she's ugly."

"They're matches too, from what I heard."

Otabek simply hummed in response, Yuri digging his nose into his shoulder even deeper. "Lucky that we're a match, right?"

To the blonde's surprise, the Kazakh asked, "If I had a different soul mark, and I had your image tattooed, would you drop me?"

The dark-haired man waited, but Yuri never responded.

If Otabek felt the arms around his torso constrict even tighter, he never mentioned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo I believe that Yuuri only bought 1 ring XDDD
> 
> Found the meta here: http://yoimeta.tumblr.com/post/154445741629/sneko-in-case-we-still-had-any-doubts-this-is (and there are 2 metas there! metaception woo)


	28. Killing Him Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one dies, just putting that out there.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Too many truths were revealed that night than Yuuri was comfortable with, and he was left with mixed, violent feelings within him. He felt absolutely nauseous, all his emotions raging like a storm at sea, throwing him from each possible angle, and all the man wanted was to sink.

"I do not remember a single thing."

Viktor looked up from his laptop, biting his lip as he failed in stifling his laughter. "It's quite all right,  _solnyshko_ ; I'm surprised you put up with me so well during the first few months I've stayed in your family's inn despite not knowing about the banquet." He quipped, unable to hide the amusement in his tone. Yuuri turned another shade of red.

"I am never drinking again." He groaned, burying his face into a pillow. The Japanese man heard his coach laugh unabashed, feeling his bed dip as a hand carded into his hair.

"But you were wonderful, Yuuri!" Viktor praised, petting his hair in such a way that made the skater drowsy. As Yuuri moaned incorrigibly, the Russian laughed and laid beside him, one arm draped over the smaller man's back. "Aww, you're so warm! And it was so cold too."

Yuuri mumbled something Viktor couldn't understand, so the older man cuddled into his shoulder, effectively tickling him. "Viktoooor stop!!!" The Japanese man giggled, pushing his coach off, to no avail. Despite his slender built, Viktor was actually quite strong, able to lift Yuuri while on the ice even when the dark-haired man had panicked and nearly sliced off his coach's scalp. "Come on, are you secretly Makkachin's older brother?!"

The silver-haired man giggled, relenting and letting Yuuri sit up, eyes watery and lips stuck onto an awkward laugh. He couldn't help but press a soft kiss against his student's lips, cradling the Japanese man's head with his hand. "I do really love you." He whispered against the plump flesh, parting from it in favor of pressing his forehead against Yuuri's. "Did you mean it though? That these are just good luck charms?"

Guilt pooled at the bottom of Yuuri's stomach as he pressed back gently, the soft strands of Viktor's fringe tickling his nose. At the back of his head, the Japanese man felt the familiar touches of similar-colored tendrils caressing his back, but he'd gotten quite good at ignoring them. He had a final mission to focus on, after all. "What else would they be?" He forced himself to say, feeling a lump form in his throat as he gently pushed Viktor away. He could almost hear the other man's heart shatter as the Russian fell back with no resistance, allowing himself to land on the fluffy comforter of their bed.  _'Don't falter,'_ Yuuri thought, trying to move away from his coach as inconspicuously as he could. "D-did it mean something else to you?"

He didn't mean the words, but he needed to say them; Viktor had immediately shot up, faltering only a bit from rising too fast, eyes glistening with tears. "Have I been reading you wrong?" He whispered, the crack of his voice evident despite the lack of volume. The man approached his student, holding Yuuri's hands in his as they trembled. "But... you told me you loved me, right, Yuuri?"

 _'And I do, a thousand times over, and most likely even a thousand years after,'_ The Japanese man thought, pulling his hands away. "I d-do love you." He managed to choke out; he knew he had to choose his words carefully for it to work. "You've inspired me to skate, my untouchable idol, the most perfect man I've ever met; I'm so lucky."

All he said were praises, and most probably true as well, but Viktor looked as if Yuuri had stabbed him a thousand times through the chest. He let out a nervous chuckle, running a had through his hair. "Oh, really? Wow," He manage to say, eyes blinking fast. "Lucky, eh?"

Yuuri could almost feel himself break down.  _'Not yet, not when it's working.'_ He begged himself, biting his lip as he continued to speak. "Of course I'm lucky!" He exclaimed, too much energy in his words. "Don't you realize how many people would have  _k-killed_ to be in my position right now?" Yuuri couldn't help it that his voice wavered in the end, but he pressed on. "Russia's national treasure, figure skating's Living Legend, one of the world's most eligible bachelors; you were born so, so very lucky, and I'm here, riding on your coattails."

The Japanese man did not say anything when he noticed Viktor's hand balling into a fist and shaking like a leaf. Still, the man's face turned serene, a soft smile on his lips as he laughed lightly. "You're right, of course you're right." He said, and Yuuri knew he was breaking him gradually, but surely. The success of his plan felt like twisting a knife thrust into his side. Soundlessly, Viktor moved to the undisturbed bed- he'd been sleeping with Yuuri in one bed for the past two nights- and without even taking off his street clothes, the man tucked himself in and turned the lamp off. "It's late, we have an early morning tomorrow; good night, Yuuri."

"Right, good night, Viktor." The Japanese skater responded, not bothering to change out of his clothes either, turning off his lamp and turning the other way. Once Viktor's breathing evened out enough for Yuuri to believe he was finally asleep, the dark-haired man finally let the floodgates open, his pillow soaked to the cotton before he was finally asleep.

***

_"Why is he lying to me?"_

***

Viktor felt awful waking up, his eyelids crusty and his chest aching. Shaking his head, the man entered the bathroom and started the shower, relishing the nearly scalding water raining on his skin. Slowly, he reached for the uncovered mark (He had not put a  _kizuna engo_ on it the day before, determined not to get drunk and strip), tracing his nail against the glittering gold of the Polaris.  _'You shine the brightest, and yet you still look so alone.'_ Viktor mused, finding himself humming a tune he had not heard in a long time. "Second star to the right..."

Peter Pan was hardly his favorite movie, but the play was suggested to him by Lilia as they were currently banking on his boyish charms around the time the live action had come out. He was fifteen when the American film came out, and though he hardly thought it was worth another look, Mila, then five years old and irresistible, had coaxed him and Georgi to watch the old animated movie with her.

_"The second star to the right is the way to Never Land." Mila told the two teenage boys as she braided Viktor's hair. "The star on the left is bigger though, but I never knew what it was for."_

_"That's the North Star, or Polaris," Georgi commented as he stared at the DVD of the 1953 Peter Pan in his hands. "It's important to travelers since it's located in the north and it doesn't move a lot when the other stars do."_

_Mila just raised one red eyebrow at him. "Why is that important?"_

_"It just is, I guess; makes lost people feel less lonely, feel that if they know where the North Star is, they can make it to where they want to go."_

_Viktor laughed internally as Mila's face contorted in a comedic fashion as she tried to understand. He patted her head, earning a pout from the child. "How about the second star to the right, what does it do in real life?" She asked. Georgi and Viktor exchanged worried glances, wondering if they should keep Never Land alive for a while longer, or nip Mila's obsession with it in the bud. The silver-haired boy was contemplating on popping the bubble, but Georgi had shot him a look that said_ 'Don't you dare, Nikiforov'.

_The older boy simply waved him off, turning to Mila. "It has the most important job of all," Viktor said, eyes widening as he spread his arms as far as he was able to to make his tale even more dramatic, signaling Georgi how big a bullshitting he was going to treat them both to. "It grants wishes and dreams, makes all your fantasies come true!"_

_Mila was sold, hook, line and sinker. Viktor almost cackled evilly. "Wait!" She suddenly said, the silver-haired boy cursing the child's sharp mind. "Don't we wish on shooting stars, not on the second star to the right? I don't even see the second star to the right in the sky."_

_The two boys looked at each other in panic, wondering if it was too late to go back and admit it was all a sham._ 'And be looked down upon by a toddler? No way.'  _Viktor thought shamefully, thinking of a way to worm themselves out of the the fairy tale hell he'd dug for them._

Viktor chuckled in the shower, remembering how angry Mila was with them when she found out that the second star to the right was in fact, not real, and the wishing star was actually not just one, but many meteors visible to the human eye traveling in outer space. She was, however, grateful to know that the Polaris wasn't part of the lie. The silver-haired man found himself touching his mark once more. "To make people less lonely, to make them feel that they can make it wherever they want to go, huh?" He whispered, turning off the shower. The man laughed bitterly as he leaned against the tiles for a moment. "Why, my little golden Polaris, you're not doing such a good job as the Northern Star, if all you're doing is making me go in circles around, alone and nowhere closer to where I want to be."

Toweling himself dry, Viktor had forgone putting on a patch over his soul mark and dressed comfortably, making his way out of the shower room in record time. Yuuri, on the other hand, had slept in ( _'As he should,'_ Viktor approved,) and showed no signs of waking up. Recalling their conversation the night prior was painful enough, but Viktor couldn't help but try to be hopeful and dissect Yuuri's words.  _'You were never one for honest declarations,'_ He thought fondly as he sat down Yuuri's bed, gazing at the sleeping man. "I don't mind, you know? Our marks may be different, but didn't we cause the soul marks to appear on two other people because we loved each other enough?"

Earning nothing but a sleepy grunt, Viktor shook his head with a pained smile and exited the room.

***

Yuri had been walking along the seaside when he noticed a familiar head of silver staring into the horizon. "Viktor..." He whispered to himself, wondering if he should walk over to him or just keep moving. It wasn't really like the older man to be contemplative, but Yuri never did know what went in that head of his whenever Viktor fell off the face of the planet. Recalling the night before, the boy immediately balled his fists. "He's playing you a fool." He whispered through gritted teeth, with less of the rage he thought he felt.

 _'Did you know what despicable thing that pig did?'_ Yuri thought as he made his way to the older man, balled fists in his pockets to prevent himself from actually swinging them at him. As he ground his teeth, the boy made his steps louder.  _'Would you still love him in that disgusting way that you do if you knew he was all a lie?"_

Viktor had not noticed him, too engrossed with looking at the glistening ring Yuuri gave him reflecting the early rays of sunlight. The boy decided he'd waited enough, raised his foot, pushing his leg as hard as he could, landing a kick onto Viktor's designer coat.

_THUD._

_'Huh, he didn't even move an inch!?'_ The boy wondered, staring at the shoe-shaped indent on Viktor's coat, before launching three more kicks onto the older man for good measure.  _'Look here, damn it!'_

When Viktor finally turned to him, Yuri was taken aback with how his face was purely of confusion, as if he wasn't even the least bit pissed that the blonde boy had come out of nowhere and started abusing his most probably already aching back.  _'Why aren't you angry?'_ The boy asked internally, searching Viktor's face for an indication of any other emotion other than confusion. Seeing none, the blonde decided to push his luck a bit further.

"Viktor Nikiforov is dead."

***

**_"Viktor Nikiforov is dead."_ **

It stung, and the silver-haired man winced as he wondered how true the statement was.

Yuri Plisetsky had suddenly made his presence known by attempting to dislocate his tailbone, and Viktor was about to jab at him for it, playfully accuse the boy that he was trying to get rid of the wrong competition ( _"It's Yuuri you're competing with, Yura, not me!"_ ) when those four ugly words spewed from his mouth.

Viktor Nikiforov is dead.

 _'And yet here I am, very much alive,'_ He thought bitterly as he stared into Yuri's green eyes, trying to search for anything he could have done the night before that set the boy off into a kicking frenzy.

"Why do you look so happy looking after that damn pig?"

Leaning down to his height, the taller man couldn't help but be petty and fight the blonde boy the only way he should. "Did you want to compete against me?" He drawled, the condescending tone purely accidental, but Viktor was too annoyed to care; the way Yuri's eyebrows twitched at his words made his childishness all the more worth it.

"Don't be so full of yourself, not every skater looks up to you. Just go away, geezer." The boy spat, and Viktor had to hold back a howl of laughter, because he could clearly remember how Yuri, adorably less angry at eight years old, staring at him from the audience as he did a Quad Salchow in that one show in Moscow. He could clearly remember the boy when he came into the rink as Yakov's new skater, how the small blonde puff followed him around wordlessly on the ice, to the lockers, to the coffee shops... the silver-haired man had to literally stop himself from exploding in giggles in front of Yuri, because the boy was clearly one of his fans, even if he did fall out from the list along the way.

Sighing, Viktor pulled back, about to calm themselves down and ask Yuri to have breakfast with him when the boy spoke once more.

"The ring you got from the pig is trash-"

Viktor saw red.

***

When Viktor's cold fingers grasped Yuri by his cheeks, the boy felt his heart jump to his throat. He was sort of thankful that the other man's actions had him too shocked to react, his face frozen to the scowl he always wore. In his mind, however, Yuri began to panic.  _'Shitshitshitshit! Okay, I've never seen him angry before, but now he's downright pissed, fuck!'_ The boy screamed internally, feeling the tremors of the fingers on his face, as if Viktor was trying to hold back from hurting him.  _'Apologize now!'_ He commanded himself, actually terrified of what the other man might do.

When he caught the cold glint in the other's blue eyes, on the ring around Viktor's finger, however, Yuri immediately said the wrong thing. "The ring you got from that pig is trash; I'll win just to show how incompetent his owner is."

Something dangerous flashed in the older man's eyes, and Yuri's flight instincts kicked in. "Let go of me!" He grunted, pushing Viktor away, moving a good few meters from the older man. He'd never admit it, and he'd even hid his shaking hands in his pockets so the silver-haired man wouldn't see, but the blonde was scared shitless, and it wouldn't have surprised him if another word from Viktor would have driven him to tears. Gathering all his strength, Yuri looked up to face the older Russian, only to find him turned back to the sea.

Viktor's expression had watered down, a far away look in his eyes as his entire face relaxed. Clearly whatever anger he manifested prior had effectively been dispelled, and they were back to square one, two separate people looking at the same view.  _'Why aren't you shouting at me?!'_ Yuri wondered, taking in how morose the man appeared, how Viktor seemed like he'd vanish if a gust of wind blew past them. The shaking in his pockets stopped, concern sweeping over the boy.  _'Why... why are you like that? Aren't you supposed to be overjoyed?!'_

Yuri did his best to recall the man the night before, trying to see through the ill feelings he had towards Yuuri. Viktor had been happy, even sharing several pictures of the Japanese man's less-than-decent performance in the Sochi GPF banquet with Otabek. The mischievous shine in his eyes as he told everyone that he'd marry Yuuri after the man medals Gold was something he couldn't have missed even if he wanted to, with how Viktor had so obnoxiously proclaimed it; try as he might, Yuri was not able to single out any one event, any at all, that could have weathered the Living Legend to the wraith of a man in front of him.  _'Unless...'_

Viktor had not moved, had not looked away from the sea the entire time Yuri was trying to dissect him, and the boy was loathe to give up on finding out what was wrong. To his annoyance, however, he begrudgingly admitted that he may not have known Viktor as we as he thought he had, that the man may have undergone a drastic change while in Japan, that when they've met once more, he was an entire new animal despite being in the same skin. Sighing, Yuri decided to share the view with the older man, seeing the gulls flying over the blue green waters, a weird sort of nostalgia hitting him.

Yuri recalled that day he arrived in Hasetsu, dragging his trolley through the side of the road facing the sea, the peaceful ambiance doing nothing to ease his raging anger. He had spent nearly an hour finding his way to Hasetsu from Fukuoka, almost taking thirty minutes walking from the station and aimlessly around the backwater town in search for a fellow Russian. He'd known no Japanese aside from  _arigato_ and  _sayonara_ , and Yuri knew he was fucked when all he could see was the beach to his right, stretching until heaven knows where.

He could also remember what he did, whose name he yelled to the skies, when he was too angry, too prideful to call Yakov for help.

"This place reminds me of Hasetsu." Yuri found himself saying, a bit too loudly that he anticipated. He wondered if he was expecting the small smile that formed on Viktor's lips at the mention of the town, if Viktor would ever look at him with anything but those sad, longing eyes again. The man did not even turn to him to acknowledge that he'd heard the boy; with drooping shoulders, Yuri decided that he'd done enough damage and started on his way back to the hotel. Viktor could or could have not said something in return, but the blonde was too busy simmering in a pot of guilt and relief, the source of both emotions still very much a mystery to him.

***

The roaring of the audience was enough to get Yuuri's blood pumping, his cheeks warming considerably even after he'd cooled down from warm ups minutes ago.  _'It's been a year now since then.'_ The Japanese man thought, recalling his excitement to finally compete against Viktor on the same ice, how he'd given his all and ranked third on the Short Program. The man's eyes drooped as he recalled receiving the call about Vicchan, about how the dog was found crumpled and dead by the foot of his bed, how he could remember nothing about his Free Skate other than begging his poor poodle to come back. Yuuri remembered his score, over a hundred lower than Viktor's, the lowest number he'd ever gotten ever since he began skating.

 _'It feels more than a year ago, so many things have happened.'_ The man thought wistfully, sparing his competitors and their coaches lingering gazes.  _'It feels awfully familiar, with Chris and JJ here, but it also feels so new with Phichit, Otabek and Yurio in the lineup.'_

His friend Phichit, clad in the iconic 'Shall We Skate?' sparkling gold and red outfit waved at him from afar, and Yuuri waved back with a smile; had Celestino been elsewhere, he knew the Thai skater would have flown to him and the two would have engaged in playful banter until Viktor came to bring him to the rink side. The man's mood dropped at the thought of his own coach.

Viktor had been close by, a little over a meter away as he spoke with some of the event organizers, most likely being briefed about the beginning of the competition. Since Yuuri was going first, it was only natural that his coach was the busiest one from the get go. To his credit, the Russian had been very professional with him, all soft, encouraging smiles and witty, challenging words, despite the discomfort and awkwardness playing in his eyes. Viktor was never one to falter, never one to do things half-assed, and Yuuri did not ever expect him to come up short doing anything.  _'You'll get a break soon.'_ He promised silently, a dull ache setting in his chest as he noticed the occasional twitching at the corner of Viktor's lips, and the dark bags under his eyes.

Eyes that were trained on him.

"You're up, Yuuri. Are you ready?"

With a shaky sigh, the Japanese skater nodded.

"Ready."

As Yuuri slid onto the ice, he turned to Viktor, in need of a last-minute prep talk. What he didn't expect was, in the middle of the silver-haired man's litany, he'd somehow taken Yuuri's hand to his lips for a kiss, and the skater's mind all but short-circuited, not really remembering anything but the feeling of warm, soft lips against his knuckles,  _against his ring_. He promised Viktor something (for the life of Yuuri, couldn't  _stop his mouth from moving_ ) and he was off, skating to the middle of the rink, once again in front of hundreds of people, blinded by a myriad of lights.

 _'This is the last time I'm going to skate this routine.'_ Yuuri thought sadly as he got into position, waiting for the commentators to finish their introduction for him.  _'This is the beginning of my final tribute to you, Viktor.'_

_**"He will be skating to On Love: Eros, choreographed by his coach, Viktor Nikiforov."** _

_'My coach, my friend, my most precious person,'_ Yuuri lamented as the familiar harmony of strings filled the stadium. He knew his first mistake was his inability to detach himself from his mourning as he moved with muscle memory, his attempt at seducing the audience,  _Viktor_ , contorting his face into an unreadable mess of frustration and surrender.

_'Fuck.'_

The Japanese skater thanked his lucky stars that he could do his routine asleep, or else he'd have flubbed every single movement Viktor had crafted for him from day one.  _'No, no, no, focus, focus!'_ Yuuri berated himself, panic pushing bile up his throat as he soldiered on, not even thinking of how strange a face he was making. His body felt strange, as if encased in gum, his muscles falling asleep one by one.

***

"Is he all right?"

Chris turned to Lysandre as he stretched in front of the television. "Why do you ask?" The Swiss responded, pulling his leg up to his chest. He hadn't thought to pay too much attention to Yuuri- the man had been consistently topping his Short Program score from the get go, after all- but when he did, Chris felt as if he were doused in cold water. " _Mon Dieu_."

The man felt panic swell within him, recalling the night before and how embarrassed Yuuri was with all the teasing he received due to the Sochi banquet he'd absolutely forgotten. The Japanese skater appeared fine afterwards, thanks to JJ's anticlimactic appearance, Chris even getting the chance to talk to him and Viktor about the wedding. Yuuri had shied away, offering only polite nods, but he'd always been like that and the Swiss didn't feel the need to worry.

As he watched Yuuri's less-than-stellar performance, however, Chris knew that there was something absolutely  _wrong_.

***

"This... this is quite strange." Michele said, turning to Emil, Sara and Mila. The three had raised their eyebrows at him, almost comically in sync, when the Italian's frown deepened in frustration.

"What do you mean?" Emil asked, honestly clueless, turning to Sara as if she could read her twin's mind. Michele scratched the back of his head.

"It's Yuuri, he's not doing very well." The elder twin groaned. Mila immediately turned back to the rink, and then to the screen, cupping her hand over her mouth.

"What's going on?" The Czech pouted, a bit put out from being unable to spot the problem. "He's been nailing his jumps okay, right?"

"He is, but the step sequence, his crowning glory, feels detached. Forced, even." Sara supplied, turning worriedly to her friends. "He looked okay yesterday; is he choking?"

Mila shook her head. "We've all seen him choke; his step sequence  _never_ suffers when he's got the jitters." Leaning back helplessly, the redhead groaned. Her words from the day before rang in her ears, and as confident as she was, the Russian couldn't help but second-guess the things she said to the Japanese man.  _'Was is the wrong thing to say? I didn't put the wrong pressure on him, did I?'_

_It's all right, you know, to lay claim on your man._

_Everybody can see how happy you've made him._

As she stared at Yuuri with concern, Mila couldn't help but bite her lip in guilt.

***

He overheard Yakov and Lilia speaking, as much as he'd rather not.

"That boy of Viktor's doesn't look like he's in good condition."

He heard Yakov grunt. "Whatever he's going through, he's going to sort it out on his own."

Lilia's tone was sharp. "And what do you mean by that, Yakov?"

Silence reigned between them for a moment, On Love: Eros playing in the background, accompanied by the commentators' less than excited voices. The two older Russians spoke no more, and Yuri took the time to mute everything out.

 _'You deserve it, you deserve it, you piece of shit,'_ He cursed in his mind as he stretched, as if he were trying to fan the flames of anger as vigorously as he could, as if he'd want nothing but to burn in hatred.

Yuri would deny within an inch of his life that the fire of contempt he had for Yuuri had been put out long ago.

Turning to the television, the blonde boy's eyes widen as he looked just in time to see Yuuri's hand touch the ice upon landing a messy Quad Flip.

Lilia and Yakov turned to him in outrage, mostly confused as to why Yuri had flew three meters to turn the television off.

***

Viktor wasn't stupid, he didn't expect to make four rotations as he jumped on the sidelines simultaneously with Yuuri when his student attempted the Quad Flip for the second time in competition. He was also not exactly an idealist, and he knew that Yuuri was not going to nail the landing, not with how he was skating. It wasn't like Viktor had expected his student to fail- what kind of coach would that have made him?- but there was obviously something bothering him, and whether or not the Russian was a hundred percent sure he knew what it was, it wasn't something he should intrude on.  _'I asked you before, what you want me to be to you,'_ The man thought as he watched his skater fall on his knees, obviously more disappointed at his performance than anybody else in the stadium.  _'Now, I want you to find out what you want yourself to be. What do you want to be to the skating world, to your family, friends?'_

The man met Yuuri at the entrance and handed him his blade guards. "You did well." He whispered genuinely, because Yuuri  _had_ done well, maybe just not as well as they'd both hoped for. The tears twinkled in the Japanese skater's brown eyes, but he soldiered on, sitting with Viktor at the Kiss and Cry.  _'What can I offer you now?'_ The Russian thought as he clasped his hands together while waiting for Yuuri's score to be announced.  _'What else can I do to make you see that **you are enough**?'_

_'What do you want to be to me, Yuuri?'_

***

Yuuri felt his world crashing down, the feeling of ice on his palm as he touched down on the landing too permanent, too lasting for him to find any comfort.  _'My final chance to skate it, and I blew it.'_ He wailed within, not even the strong, warm arms of his coach able to give him safe haven.  _'I failed. My last chance, and I used it to tarnish you.'_ The gentle gaze on Viktor's face was a blade through his heart, and the skater needed all his strength to not cry.  _'I haven't even broken your heart yet, and I've already hurt you.'_

 **97.83**.

Yuuri has had worse scores, but his Barcelona Short Program left the most bitter taste of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw Welcome to the Madness. I can only articulate my reaction through my native language:
> 
> JUSMIYO MARIMAR YURIO. ANONG NANGYARI SAYONG BATA KA.
> 
> Also, I did a little research on a whim and noticed that the live action of Peter Pan (with Jeremy Sumpter) came a year (2003) before Viktor received his Polaris mark(2004, as I'm going with Viktor being 28 in 2016), and I thought it was good side material XDDD I do not own Peter Pan.


	29. The End of a Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor could no longer wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :) I'm back from a short vacation. Sorry for the delay, I was meaning to post something last week, but I had to help with a wedding and didn't have enough time to write. >.<

"Do you want to eat anywhere tonight?"

Yuuri turned wearily to his coach, dragging his feet across the pavement as they made their way back to the hotel. The skater wondered if having their accommodation in walking distance was a good or bad thing; he'd appreciated that there was no way he'd be late for the events, but the Japanese man also longed for the privacy and comfort of a car ride. "Um, maybe we can have room service instead? I'm feeling pretty tired." He responded, chest aching from the understanding smile Viktor shot his way.

"Of course, today was exhausting."

The skater wondered if there was more to what the Russian said as they entered the glass doors of the hotel, his hand feeling awfully cold without the warmth Viktor could provide. Yuuri looked at the glinting gold around his finger, spinning it with his thumb as he bit his lip.  _'Not much longer until I take you off,'_ He lamented morosely, no longer feeling the rush of tears he usually had whenever the thought of losing his coach came to mind. Looking at said man's back, the dark-haired skater couldn't help but smile wistfully as his eyes traced every contour and color of the man he'd loved for half of his life.  _'I'll miss all the genuine, weirdly heart-shaped smiles you throw my way,'_ The man thought as Viktor faced him, the two of them silent and alone in the elevator.  _'I'll miss all the hugs you give at the slightest provocation, for the smallest of reasons.'_

Viktor had shot him another wordless smile before he busied himself with looking through his Instagram feed, face placid as he checked out the candid photos and selfies the other skaters had taken. "You should really use IG more, Yuuri," He heard the man say, still not looking up from the screen. "You have almost the same number of followers as Yurio- and  _that's_ saying something- but your latest post was also your first, still that pork cutlet bowl your mom made you when you won Regionals." As if to make a point, Viktor shoved his device into Yuuri's face, the other man instantly feeling his stomach grumble at the sight of his mother's cooking.

**y-katsuki**

_**[katsudon.jpeg]** _

Got Gold at Regionals, and now I can finally have  _katsudon_! (´･(00)･｀)

_#katsudon #porkcutletbowl #foodporn_

**♥️ v-nikiforov, phichit+chu, christophe-gc** and223,783 like this.

"All the likes went to this one picture!" Viktor laughed, taking his phone back. "Ah, but it's all right, I suppose; your friend Phichit tags you in so many pictures that you're not too scarce to the public."

Yuuri just laughed nervously, biting his lip as he opted not to mention how Phichit had not tagged him onto a picture in  _weeks_ , and all the latest tags he'd received were from Viktor, who'd taken to tagging his account on every picture he posted.  _'I'm going to miss those too,'_ The man sighed, silent as he watched Viktor retreat into his social media once more.  _'I hope you find the heart not to block me on IG; I'd love to be able to treasure these memories for as long as I can.'_

The pair made their way to their hotel room, still oddly quiet, the footsteps they made against the carpeted floor eerily soft, as if they were barely there. Inside the room was no different, the two immediately taking their places separately, as if the other ceased to exist. Yuuri opted to busy himself with a mobile game he'd downloaded for down times, occasionally glancing at his coach, who was already in work mode and re-watching all the Short Programs. Viktor's eyes were glued to the screen as his hands typed almost perpetually, appearing to be taking down a questionable amount of notes from all the videos. Yuuri frowned, opting to leave the man to his job for the time being.

"Um, I'll go down and get us some food, okay?" He said, hoping to get some time away from the awkward silence he shared with his coach. Viktor didn't even raise his eyes from the laptop.

"You said you were tired, though; you can just use the phone you know."

The Japanese man gulped, scratching the back of his head.  _'No way around it, then.'_ He thought as he marched up to Viktor, placing a trembling hand onto his shoulder. The silver-haired man didn't even seem surprised, looking up to Yuuri with the placid grin he'd been wearing for most of the day. "Do you want to talk to me, Yuuri?" He asked, voice tame and suave, just like the Viktor from the interviews. The Japanese man bit his lip and squeezed the Russian's shoulder.

"Yeah, I do, actually."

Viktor's face fell immediately. "Is there something wrong?"

The Russian's voice fell a few notes lower, sending shivers down Yuuri's spine, because  _of course_ Viktor could still sound so sensual even when worry dotted his every word.  _'Focus!'_ The skater berated himself, closing his hands into a fist. "I just really, really need to talk to you." He urged, turning away. Viktor had traversed the space between them immediately, a firm yet comforting hand on Yuuri's face leading the shorter man to look into his coach's eyes.

"If this is about the Flip, Yuuri, then please don't worry about it, okay?" He began, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the shorter man's cheek. "You've just begun practicing the flip after your attempt at the Cup of China; in all honesty, you shouldn't be able to get all rotations in, much more  _land_ it, regardless of how messy the landing was."

"I-It's not that," The other man responded, neither leaning into or away from his coach's touch, staring straight into Viktor's soul. "Would it be okay if I'd take a walk around the hotel for a bit? I want to make sure I won't say the wrong thing because of my nerves."

"Oh,  _solnyshko_ , you could never say the wrong thing." The Russian whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I think I have been unfair to you, treating you quite professionally for the entire day." Pale hands took in his own, the firm comfort of Viktor's thumb almost bringing the Japanese skater to tears. "I thought you needed space, and you know what you want is always what I want to give you." As a sad smile hung itself on the taller man's lips, it took all Yuuri's strength not to pull himself away from his grasp. To his surprise, it was Viktor who'd removed himself first. "Take your time to think; I'll be here when you decide to come back to me."

***

Yakov had been watching Viktor for twenty years.

From the moment the silver-haired prodigy had stepped onto the ice, throughout the years he'd worked up into becoming a figure skating legend, and even after he'd fallen off the face of competition to coach one of his rivals, the old Russian had watched Viktor Nikiforov grow up close and personal. He knew how obsessive the boy got when he used to believe he wasn't good enough, despite flaunting near-perfect confidence on the ice as he gallivanted on the rink with Georgi, and much, much later, Mila. He also knew how easily his silver-haired skater encased his heart in a dark room, where people would never know that behind the legend, Viktor was also an over-the-top, poodle-loving dork.

His last name wasn't Feltsman, but Yakov would have been loath to deny the boy as his son.

The elderly man scoffed at how the media painted his star skater: an untouchable, suave playboy who could choreograph as if angels whispered movements to his ears, who could skate as if winter spirits guided his every step. Nobody wanted to hear about Viktor Nikiforov struggling to land a quad, after all; nobody wanted to know how the silver-haired man had laid down on the ice, drawing blanks as he tried to choreograph his programs. No one was interested in how many breakdowns he had as he tried to cope with the death of his grandmother as long as he put the sun to shame with how bright he smiled for the cameras. Nobody wondered why it took half a decade more for Yakov and Lilia to divorce each other when their relationship had reached rock bottom; nobody cared to think that they'd stayed an extra five years more as a couple to take care of their Vitya together as the boy got used to being on his own. Nobody wanted to hope for Viktor to be their lover, but everyone wanted to be his next fling, despite him not having time for such.

Nobody even dared to wonder if he already belonged to someone or not.

So when Yakov let him hop on the cable car that snowy April evening, he hoped and prayed to every god, saint and angel that Viktor had finally,  _finally_ , found his match. He hoped to the heavens that his student had finally found the person who was the stuff of his grandmother's tales, the person who'd envelope him in so much more love than he knew what to do with. The moment Viktor had called him to confirm that Yuuri Katsuki was indeed his match, sleep deprivation be damned, Yakov had gone and celebrated with Lilia even when their flight to Canada was a mere few hours away.

When he saw Viktor at the Cup of China, so very in love and elated, Yakov supposed that he no longer needed to worry, that Yuuri Katsuki was taking very good care of his errant student, and that Viktor, despite his obviously unconventional coaching tactics (which may or may not have involved more  _intimate_ moments than a coach and student should share, in Yakov's professional opinion) was able to hoist his student-slash-lover up, helping build Katsuki into a more tenacious competitor, bringing out talent nobody had expected from the Japanese skater. Despite being true to his character, grumbling and pointing out petty flaws in Viktor's mostly spur-of-the-moment decisions, Yakov had been very proud.

It was, therefore, only to be expected that he was more than pissed and borderline _murderous_  when he found a different mark on Yuuri Katsuki's hip. Yuuri was not among the people he was originally wary of; the boy, after all, had been nothing but polite and soft-spoken, worked harder than most skaters he knew, and tried to stay out of anyone's way as long as he could help it. Viktor had also gushed about him non-stop, calling the Japanese skater his little sun and other pet names Yakov knew his student never had the shame to avoid.  _'Wolf in sheep's clothing, no better way to put it.'_ He constantly thought, especially when the GPF rolled in and Viktor was  _still_ prancing around with Yuuri as if he'd never ordered the younger man to come clean. Yakov almost flew across the ice and socked Yuuri in the face the moment he saw the rings on their fingers.

 _'Calm down, you old fuck, lest Yuri gets disqualified after you maim that lying son of a bitch.'_ He had thought with closed fists as he tried to keep his face less severe. Yuri had broken Viktor's Short Program record, after all, and the child could do with less yelling. Yuuri, on the other hand, had done less than stellar on a program he'd only been getting better at performing, and if Yuri was being nothing but a small asshole to the older man, well, Yakov could turn a blind eye just once.

The man wondered if Yuuri was simply waiting for the GPF to end before he told Viktor everything. Rationally, Yakov thought begrudgingly, that was the best course of action, lest they make themselves the next hot topic in the sport, tarnishing Viktor's gleaming gold reputation.

_"I-I love him."_

And Yakov had no doubt in his mind that Yuuri Katsuki did. Equally, however, there was no mistaking his successful attempt to make Viktor believe he was his match.

"Yakov, I'll be out to speak with one of Yuratchka's potential sponsors."

The old man turned to his ex-wife as she tied her hair in a bun, donning her favorite yellow coat as she made a move to grab her purse. "Go on; where is the brat anyway?"

The woman regarded him with a raised, perfectly-styled eyebrow. "Odd. He said he'd already told you that he was going around to explore the hotel a bit with Otabek Altin."

The coach growled as he rested his palm over his eyes. "Either he's lying or he'd done it so quietly I never noticed." Yakov groaned, leaning back into his chair. "I'll just call him if he's out too late. It's just a little past nine, after all."

Lilia hummed and started walking to the door, pausing only to turn to Yakov, as if she'd forgotten something. "You haven't taken me to meet Vitya and Yuuri Katsuki properly. Do you think they'd have time before the banquet?"

"Eh, we'll meet them if they want to be met."

"Fair enough."

The door closed shut, unlocking with a tiny  _beep_ as Lilia tested her card key, out of habit, before locking once more. Silently, Yakov took out his phone, rolling through his contact list until Viktor's name appeared. The man was very tempted to simply rat the Japanese bastard out to his ex-student, and who knows, he might have saved Yuuri Katsuki the trouble of seeing Viktor furious. Yakov snorted at the notion of the silver-haired skater being angry; Viktor had the patience of a  _saint_ , but he supposed the man made up for it with a tongue that could cut steel. As he thumbed through the contact photo- Viktor had mysteriously set contact photos for him, Yuri, Mila and Georgi and Yakov had no idea how to remove them (not that he would, really)- the elderly Russian belatedly realized that he'd dialed the man's number, the lag on his phone only showing the call screen when Viktor  _actually_ picked up.

_"Yakov! What a pleasant surprise, I was just about to hit the shower!"_

"I didn't want to call you." The older man growled, earning a laugh from Viktor.

 _"Well, someone must have wanted to call me on your phone, and made sure you were on the other end when I answered, right?"_ The skater sang, Yakov almost seeing the amused grin on his face.  _"So how can I help my dear old coach?"_

The elder Russian massaged the bridge of his nose, turning to his laptop where Yuuri Katsuki's Short Program was currently paused.  _'No time like the present.'_ He thought begrudgingly. "What the hell happened to your skater out there today?"

_"Hm? I'd have to admit there was a lapse in my judgment to allow him to end with a Quad Flip. Unlike in the Cup of China, we'd practiced it for some time, and the prolonged pressure of having to do it must have affected him negatively."_

Yakov nodded, quite impressed that Viktor was steadily gaining traits of being a good coach, keeping an objective eye despite looking at Yuuri as if he'd hung all the stars in the sky. "I hope you have something planned for his Free Skate, if you'd want him to made the podium at all."

_"Scouting the enemy eh? Why, Yakov, how underhanded of you!"_

The man never failed to raise his blood pressure, apparently. "I'd like to remind you whose skater's in First and whose skater's in Fourth." The elder man snapped, earning another laugh from Viktor.

_"Yuuri will get to First too, I'd put my money in it."_

Yakov sighed. "You really think highly of that boy of yours, don't you?"

A pause punctuated their easy banter.  _"He really is wonderful, you know. I've never seen anybody work as hard as he does."_

 _'You've obviously stopped looking at yourself, then.'_ The older man bit back, knowing it was a conversation for another day. "And you're still as besotted with him as I left you."

_"I can't help it; forgive a man who's so insanely in love?"_

"You are insane." Yakov managed to say, feeling a lump in his throat as he anticipated how crushed Viktor would be after he broke it to him. "Vitya, you know that despite every harsh word I say, I'm only always looking out for you, right?"

His student, apparently, still could not grasp how grave the older man's tone was. _"What is this? Are you telling me you're going to sabotage Yura so that I could shine as a coach?! Yakov, that's too much!"_

"Let me finish, you fool! I am doing no such thing!"

_"Well, I can't help it! I'm easily excitable-"_

"-You're also easily fooled."

_"Oh, I'd rather take the word 'bamboozled', you see. And I'm hurt! I'm not always gullible-"_

"No Vitya." Yakov nearly shouted, veins in his temples threatening to burst from the anger the man had suddenly felt. "Yuuri, that skater of yours. He lied to you. He's seen your mark and had it tattooed on himself."

Silence enveloped them, and the older man wondered of Viktor would drop the call. However, all suspicions were put to rest when he heard the ruffling of cloth, and Yakov assumed Viktor was getting off the bed.  _"How did you- when have- you knew?"_

"I caught him in the bathroom a day before his Free Skate at the Rostelecom Cup."

_"...have you told anybody else?"_

"That's not the point, boy!" Yakov bellowed, patience wearing thing. In the back of his mind, the Russian felt relieved that Yuri decided to sneak out of their hotel room after all. "I just told you that the boy you've been fucking around with lied to you, and you're worried I spilled his secret? He's not your match, he's not your soulmate! He's exactly whom I wanted to protect you from all these years. I knew this would happen, I knew these wolves would prowl around you and snatch you from underneath me!" Yakov breathed in deeply, feeling a knot in his chest as he banged his fist onto the table. "You may love him now, I don't fault either of you for that; but as it stands, that man lured you into coming to Japan, fooling you into thinking that he's your soulmate."

Silence, and then a haunting laugh crackled from the speakers of Yakov's phone. "...V-Vitya?"

The laugh continued, louder and louder, until Yakov had left the phone on the table, running out of his room and toward's Viktor's.

He didn't hear the cackling die down into heartbroken sobs.

***

Yuuri had been walking along the pool area, composing himself and his train of thought, how he'd finally end everything with Viktor, how he'd even  _live_ after he'd hurt the older man. Before he could even delve into the despair he'd readied himself for, the Japanese skater found himself cornered by two, relatively short men.

Boys, rather.

"Hey, Pork Cutlet Bowl, you've got some nerve walking around here after that dumb skate of yours!" Yuri Plisetsky yelled, while Otabek Altin stood close by, at least having the decency to look ashamed.

 _'How is it that I always find myself cornered by you whenever I need to be alone?'_   Yuuri lamented as he turned to the two, wondering what business they had with him. "Hey Yurio, Otabek."

The shorter male stomped his foot. "Don't call me that!" The blonde growled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Really, Yuri could do more to look intimidating; Yuuri could hardly remember how the boy was able to make him feel so small in the bathroom stall all those months ago. Russian Fairy was definitely a better description of Yuri Plisetsky. "What the hell are you doing moping around these parts anyway? Go hide in that gross den of yours with the old man."

"Yuri, knock it off." Otabek whispered, a stern expression on his face as he told off his friend. Before the younger boy could react Yuuri waved the Kazakh off.

"No, it's okay; Yuri has always been like this, I don't mind." The japanese man piped in, scratching the back of his head. Yuri just looked at the Kazakh, pouting.  _'Ah, must not have been the reaction he expected.'_ Yuuri mused to himself, innocuously looking around for an escape.

"No, seriously; why aren't you with Viktor?" The blonde wondered, face no longer apprehensive, and if Yuuri were so bold, he'd even think the boy held a hint of worry. After moments of silence, worry turned into anger almost instantly. "Did that idiot say something stupid again? Why I oughta-"

Yuri was cut off when Otabek grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, the younger of the two letting out a sound reminiscent of a rabid cat. "What the hell, Otabek!?"

"Try not to jump into conclusions, Yuuri hasn't spoken, after all."

"Che." The blonde spat, turning back to the Japanese skater. "Fix this lovers' quarrel of yours with the geezer; if you even dare to show up tomorrow with something as bad as today's performance, you're going to regret it. No used beating down on someone who won't even give a fight."

And with that, the smaller man briskly walked away, too preoccupied with incomprehensible Russian muttering to notice that Otabek had stayed behind, the Kazakh regarding Yuuri with a sympathetic gaze. "He's been worried about you ever since the dinner we had at that restaurant." He said, the older man looking down at the memory. Otabek took it as a sign to continue. "Yuri will never admit it, given how he is, but he's been guilty about it."

"He shouldn't be," Was all Yuuri said, hoping that the man would just let it go. Despite his appearance, however, Otabek Altin was far more meddlesome than he let on.

"After the dinner, Yuri kept asking me if I would love him even if I found out that he faked his mark."

 _'No.'_ Yuuri's mind screamed, the man's head immediately shooting up to look at his companion, eyes wide with fear.  _'Does he know? Did Yuri tell him? Would they tell Viktor? Nonononono, I need to tell Viktor-'_ The Japanese man chanted in his head, spawning remote and bizarre scenarios that only served to aggravate his anxiety even more. "W-why would he say that?" He manage to stammer, voice coming out a few pitches higher than intended. Thankfully, the younger man didn't notice, or he didn't care, as he continued to stare at Yuuri in that slightly intimidating way of his.

"He told me that he wanted you to know what we were. He's poor at showing it, but he holds you in high regard. He sees how happy you make Viktor, and he's both yearning for it and afraid of it." The dark-haired man answered.

**_"Hey, Otabek! What are you doing back there?! I looked like an idiot asking you where we'd have dinner and you weren't even here!"_ **

"I'll be there in a moment!" Otabek called back, turning to Yuuri once more. "I hope you continue to understand him for a bit longer, because I doubt he'd be calming down anytime soon." The two shared a soft chuckle, Yuuri glancing at the Russian several meters away, furiously tapping on his phone.

"It's all right; I'll be here as long as he'll have me."

Otabek nodded. "Same here." As he turned to leave, the man made eye contact with Yuuri once more. "Soul marks are curious things, aren't they?" He smiled to himself, reaching his hand to his chest, just under his clavicle. "They're like the stuff of fairy tales."

**_"Otabek!!! What's the hold up!?"_ **

When the man finally turned and jogged to the smaller blonde, Yuuri couldn't help but touch his own soul mark, a wistful laugh escaping him. "Fairy tales, huh?" He whispered, burying one eye into the palm of his other hand.

_'Sadly, I'm living in this reality, where my soul mark holds no happily ever after.'_

***

The room was oddly quiet when Yuuri returned, only a dim, yellow light emanating from a small bed lamp shedding illumination throughout the room. On the divan by the large window was Viktor, wearing nothing but the fluffy, white hotel bathrobe, rubbing his silvery hair dry with a towel. Yuuri's breath hitched as he observed his coach's ethereal beauty, the soft glow shining gold on the Russian's alabaster skin and starlight locks, unintentionally casting a halo around him.

Viktor seemed oblivious to his presence, and the Japanese man would have loved to have kept it that way, if only for a few more minutes. He would have loved to take a picture of the scene, immortalize the serene moment, the calm before the storm, his ultimate dream before he wrecks it down to his ultimate nightmare. Yuuri would have given anything to keep the moment forever, lock it up in the treasure chest of his mind, let it be something he'd forever cherish, something that would get him by whenever times were rough.

_I love you, Viktor._

When the man's blue eyes caught his own, time seemed to stop, only to move once more, at a dangerously faster pace than what Yuuri would have liked. A small smile formed on Viktor's pale lips, most likely from taking a cold shower. "Hello, Yuuri."

The skater nodded, taking small steps towards his coach. Upon closer inspection, Yuuri noted that Viktor's cheeks, and even the corners of his eyes held a certain redness, as if he'd accidentally scalded himself, and he wondered why there was a dissonance between his eyes and his lips.  _'Why is it that your lips hold a smile, and yet your eyes appear as if they've been crying?'_ The Japanese man wondered, worry pooling in his stomach. As he sat down on the bed in front of Viktor, Yuuri couldn't help but admire the small, crystalline water droplets cascading down his coach's skin, escaping the strands of his fine hair.

"You told me you wanted to talk to me, and that you needed to be away to compose your thoughts." Viktor began, voice low and modulated. Yuuri gulped, nodding as he did not trust himself yet to speak. The older man sent another smile his way, dropping the towel onto his shoulder as he folded his hands over each other on his lap. "Were you able to think about how you want to tell me?"

"Y-yes."

Viktor hummed in response, closing his eyes as he leaned forward. "That's good." He whispered, head slightly bowed. "I've had time to think of what I want to tell you as well."

"I-is that so?" Yuuri stammered, his heart hammering in his chest as Viktor straightened himself, face hardened, jaws and cheekbones suddenly sharp enough to cut through steel. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, eyebrows slightly pulled downward, the blues of his irises growing colder by the second as the man's presence became larger and larger, as if ready to consume Yuuri whole. "V-Viktor? What is it?"

"Right." The older man responded, pausing as he stood from the divan.

Sharper than any blade he'd seen cutting ice, Viktor's next words were enough to slit his throat, and Yuuri felt that he was  _dying._

**"Let's end this."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading!
> 
> I can feel the ending in one or two more chapters. <3
> 
> You are all the best, and I hope that you all enjoyed reading this piece as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Viktuuri forever <3


	30. Catching Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yuuri was the one being chased after all.

"Open the damn door, boy!"

Yakov banged his fist against the door, security and damage costs be damned. Viktor had stopped his infernal laughter, thank goodness (Yakov still had chills running down his spine just thinking about it), but the silence from the other side of the door scared him more than he'd admit. It had been very, very long since he'd seen the silver-haired man in anguish, and it had been most definitely more than ten years when he heard him cry last. Who could have blamed the old Russian when his rusty parental instincts kicked in, whirring in his head like a well-oiled set of gears?

"Vitya, I swear to God, open this-"

As he wished, the door opened, and Yakov found himself falling into his former student's strong arms, immediately pushing against Viktor's chest, as if it could save him any dignity. Looking up, the older man's expression softened as he found the perpetual stream of tears on the silver-haired man's face, no longer laughing, most likely done bawling, and just silently weeping, as Yakov remembered all those years ago.

"Yakov, why are you making such a ruckus?" The man joked weakly, the cracks in his voice unable to convey the humor he wanted to hide behind of. The older Russian slipped in the room, closing the door from prying eyes, before encasing Viktor in his arms, a tight, fatherly hug the skater must have not felt for a long, long time breaking down any walls the man had tried to put up. "You're too unfair, Yakov, you know exactly what to do to get me on my knees!"

Yakov let Viktor bury his face into the scarf around his neck, feeling moisture seep into his jacket as the other sobbed freely. "I never know truly, silly boy," The old man whispered, rubbing circles into his ex-student's back. "I guess I just got lucky and was able to surprise you this time around."

A laugh punctuated the sobs, followed by choked coughing as Viktor tried to get some much needed air. Yakov felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as he rubbed Viktor's back with a bit more force, willing the younger man's hacking to cease. He remembered, back then when Viktor couldn't hold his liquor, shoulders and torso much narrower, hair still falling to his tailbone... back then when the man was still a child. The old man's eyes stung from the memories of his former skater, young, lithe and impulsive, drinking himself silly and crying himself raw, too few moments of weakness to warrant actual guidance.

Oh, how Yakov wished he were there more for the child in his arms.

"I was sixteen, you know? The last time I was like this with you."

"What are you blabbering about, boy?" The coach whispered, pulling away slightly to see Viktor's tear-stained face. Redness blotched his nose, cheeks and eyes, lids swollen from excessive crying. As objective as Yakov, would have wanted to be, however, not even he could deny that his ex-student's gift to look good under any circumstance. He chuckled at the thought as he brought a calloused thumb to wipe away a newly-fallen tear. "Look at you, Vitya; if you'd ever run out of sponsorship for the sport, you'd do well in those soap operas and romantic movies Lilia loves so much."

The younger man let out a wet laugh. "My, my, aren't you spoiling me too much today, Yakov? I never knew you were swayed by tears so easily!" Viktor quipped, earning a ruffling pat on his hair.

"Don't get too cocky, you're still an insufferable brat." The older man drawled, holding Viktor up. "As it stands, from the moment you entered my house, and even after you left, do know that you are always my insufferable brat."

The older man was enveloped in another hug, Viktor's wide chest and long arms enveloping him completely. "You're exactly a father to me." The silver-haired man cooed, nuzzling his face into the older man's scarf once more. Yakov scoffed, but did not push him away.

"I bloody should be, after you busted an ungodly amount of Rubles to change your patronymic."

Viktor sighed, untangling himself from the older man as he sat on the bed, motioning his companion to do the same. After a moment of silence, the younger man spoke. "I guess i should have known you'd fly over here the moment I started breaking down." He whispered, turning gratefully to his former coach. "I didn't want you to, but after all that's been said and done, I'm glad that I always have you to lean on."

"It's only you who always seem to forget that, foolish child." Yakov scoffed, placing a hand on Viktor's shoulder. As a more serious expression took his face, the older man asked, "What do you intend to do, now that I've told you?"

The haunting laughter from the cellphone was even more terrifying in person.

"What the devil- boy, you stop that infernal laughing or help me, I will slap the living daylights out of you!" The old Russian growled, and Viktor hid his mouth behind his hand, something akin to wheezing escaping his lips. "Seriously, you will send me to an early grave with antics like that. What on earth do you find so funny?"

When the silver-haired skater had finally composed himself, he turned to Yakov with a resigned smile. "I've known." He whispered, pausing only to let it sink in before continuing. "I've known for as long as you have. When I alighted the premature flight back to Fukuoka, I was able to meet Yuuri's soulmate," with a widening smile, Viktor added. "and her husband."

Yakov stayed still, mind whirring with the newly presented information he tried to mingle with the biases and ideas he'd held onto for a long while.  _'Viktor had been willingly played?'_ The old man thought apprehensively, wondering how in love his student must have been to play the fool with his consent. He didn't need to voice his questions, however, as the man was more than willing to share.

Viktor's story flowed as smoothly and compellingly as his skating programs, beginning with his meeting with Ben and Ketty, how he had almost come between Chris and Lysandre,  _twice_ , and finally, how he'd been waiting, giving Yuuri all the time in the world to  _fucking tell him, damn it._ "I never expected to break down as I had a while ago," He chuckled softly as he rested his elbows on his thighs, face planted on the back of his hand as blue eyes scanned all the dips and ridges on Yakov's face. Smiling to himself, the silver-haired man continued. "I've always wondered how many of those were because of me, and now I'm almost afraid to ask."

Yakov rolled his eyes. "You worry about the most trivial of things." He muttered as he mirrored his former student's posture. As the man's gaze fell, so did the timbre of his voice. "Vitya, I'd like to apologize to you."

"Huh? What for?"

The older Russian looked Viktor over, sighing. "When I found out, I asked Yuuri to end his nonsense with you." He played with the ends of his scarf, scrunching his eyebrows, as if searching for the right words to say. "I take it that he hasn't?"

Viktor massaged the bridge of his nose. "No, but before he left, he told me that he had something to tell me. We're going to talk later, apparently." The younger man fell back, landing on the plush comforter of the bed. "I have reason to believe that he's going to try and confess, then he's going to leave me and fall off the face of the earth so I never find him after he ends it all." The man chuckled. "He could do more to avoid me, however, considering I know where he lives."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

With a small, tired smile, Viktor eyes flashed with a small hint of mischief that Yakov knew too well to underestimate.

"I'm going to end it first."

***

After he'd assured Yakov that he was all right, and that he'd only take a shower before waiting for Yuuri to come back, Viktor found himself extremely tired, lying on the bed as the television showed reruns of the GPF events. The silver-haired man gazed noncommittally at JJ's botched performance, only smiling when his fiancée flashed on the screen, tear-stained and cheering. He remembered the instance as it happened, his heart clenching at how supportive the crowd had been, but he wasn't able to catch that it was Isabella who started it. JJ came up and Viktor regarded him with a hint of admiration as he bounced back almost instantly at the chanting of his lover and fans.

The commentators' voices were suddenly overtaken by a familiar French sportscaster, Viktor's attention immediately on Stéphane Lambiel. The man had recounted all the highlights of the events, paying extra attention to Yuri Plisetsky's record-breaking program.  _"Yakov Feltsman has certainly outdone himself again. It seems that Viktor Nikiforov's break from the competitive scene has opened doors for Russia's newest rising star, Yuri Plisetsky, as he shot up to first place with his striking Short Program, On Love: Agape, choreographed by none other than the Living Legend himself."_ Stéphane drawled as Yuri's flying sit spin was playing in the background. Viktor had long observed the boy's talent, and with how worked he was with Yakov and Lilia's guidance (the man had to snort at the memory of the two breathing down his neck during his Juniors), he knew that there was little that could stop the ever evolving monster.

"He's finally gotten his agape." Viktor quipped to himself, pride swelling within his chest. Stéphane continued to JJ's performance, noting how one of the fan favorites had choked and under-performed, his worst score ever since he began Seniors, only to end it with the heartfelt and groundbreaking support from his fans.

 _"It seems that this year's GPF is overflowing with love, on and off the ice,"_ The sportscaster laughed.  _"Japan's ace, Yuuri Katsuki, who is under the tutelage of Nikiforov, had the right idea as he redeems himself this season from last year's loss."_ Yuuri's dazzling step sequence was in the background as Stéphane continued, making Viktor smile as he noticed how well the technical aspects of his skate had gotten, though his step sequence felt a bit more forced than usual.  _"I could feel his love and passion from the bleachers, but Katsuki would need to step up in the Free Skate if he's aiming to make the podium this year."_

As his ears perked at his friend's words belatedly, Viktor shot up from the bed, eyes wide with realization. "'Could feel his love and passion from the bleachers...'" The Russian repeated, cradling his lower lip between his thumb and index finger. Scrambling to get his phone, the man couldn't help but let his smile reach his ears with the idea brewing in his head.

_'Yuuri, if my words can't express my love enough to reach you...'_

Swiftly dialing on his phone, Viktor placed the device to his ear, perking up when an old, familiar voice picked up.

 _"Hello? Vitya, is that you?_ "

"Thank God you picked up!" The silver-haired man nearly squealed, earning a laugh from where he sat. "Are you still in Saint Petersburg?"

_"Uh, yes, but I'm boarding the plane to Barcelona in three hours-"_

"Perfect!" The Russian squealed excitedly, earning a confused grunt from the woman on the other line. "I have a monumental favor to ask you, and I forever will be in your debt."

_"Oh, Vitya, if it's something within my power, how can I refuse you?"_

"Thank you!" Viktor preened. "Do you still have the violet and silver prototype of my  _Stammi Vicino_ costume? The one I discarded in favor of the beautiful magenta and gold one?"

 _"Of course I do! And let me tell you, I was quite hurt when you asked me to redo it,_ myshka; _silver was always more beautiful on you, even when you do deserve gold."_

"Please bring it with you, I still have a few surprises up my sleeve."

***

Viktor knew he was being entirely petty, practicing his best Ice King face on the mirror. He brought his eyebrows down- not too much, lest he appeared as if he were constipated- and pressed his lips together ins a straight line, the pink color making way to a pale peach as he bit the supple flesh in between his teeth. As much as he hated the thought of looking older, the look he was sporting on his reflection was definitely subzero, and the silver-eyed man wondered if he'd ever accidentally delivered such a piercing glare before. "My God, I look terrifying." He whispered to himself, his resolve draining as he imagined welcoming Yuuri back with such an intense expression.

He deserved it, really, but Viktor was painfully head over heels for the Japanese skater, and had he not had enough of their coy dance, the older man would have simply had gotten on his knees and forehead ( _Japanese dogeza_ , Viktor thought absently), ready to do the begging of his life.  _'But no,'_ The man thought as he made his way to the shower, wetting his hair and lathering it with his travel-size shampoo (heaven forbid he actually  _use_ hotel toiletries).  _'He's only going to think he doesn't deserve this more if he doesn't work of it.'_ The soft, powdery scent of his shower gel assaulted his senses, and Viktor couldn't help but smile softly to himself.  _'I wish I knew what's going on in that beautiful yet sad mind of yours.'_

Watching as his ring caught the bathroom light, glinting hopefully after all the bubbles washed off, the Russian stood under the shower a bit longer, thinking and rethinking his plan, and hoping it wouldn't be a retake of the Cup of China.  _'I would like to kiss him in front of everyone again, though,'_ The man thought jokingly, wondering if after everything that will go down that night, Yuuri would accept spontaneous kisses in public.

In front of everyone in formal wear, beside a minister, and maybe wearing blue and teal flower crowns with a veil on them.

Viktor smiled at the thought as he exited the shower, patting himself dry and putting on the fluffy hotel bathrobe. "I'm glad Yakov came," The silver-haired man told no one in particular as he took a seat on the divan, staring into the Barcelona night sky. "I'm glad I know now what you've been battling with, and I hope you let me be the one who helps you conquer it."

It was nearing eleven and Yuuri still had not returned, causing his coach to conjure different scenarios of his arrival. At the very least, Viktor had the right sense to stop before he hurt himself (he'd already come to a point where he'd accuse Yuri of kidnapping Yuuri in his head, because the boy secretly _adored_ him). So when the reflection of their hotel door opening appeared against the night sky on the glass of their window, Viktor couldn't help but smile in relief.

Yuuri was staring at him, and even though he was only seeing the Japanese skater against the buildings of Barcelona, Viktor could easily spot the longing in his student's eyes.  _'What are you thinking now,_ solnyshko _?'_ The silver-haired man thought as he rubbed off a stray drop of water from his cheek. As suspected, Yuuri did not move, seemingly content at just looking at him from afar; it pained the older man to think that his Yuuri was planning on doing just that for the rest of their lives, after he ended everything.  _'You have to voice out what you really want,_ dorogoy _, you cannot suffer forever.'_ As he turned to the shorter man, Viktor berated himself, realizing that his smile was still on.  _'Ah, for now, I'll give you another push.'_

"You told me you wanted to talk to me, and that you needed to be away to compose your thoughts." Viktor started, making sure not to give Yuuri any way out of their talk. "Were you able to think about how you want to tell me?"

Yuuri was shaking so much Viktor could fee the ground rumble. "Y-yes." The Japanese man said, pitch a bit higher than usual, and his accent more apparent. The Russian raised his eyebrow slightly, wondering just how nervous his student was. As petty as it felt, the silver-haired man continued to push his ice prince act.

"That's good. I've had time to think of what I want to tell you as well."

 _'Hold it together!'_ Viktor internally cursed as he looked up and watched Yuuri's face blanch. "I-is that so?" The man whimpered, and the Russian had to fight all emotions and instinct that made him want- _need-_ to run over and take the small skater into his arms. He put on the Ice King look he rehearsed in the bathroom, panic and relief mixing within him as Yuuri seemed to have fallen for his facade, the Japanese skater's lower lip quivering as a whimper escaped him. "V-Viktor? What is it?"

 _'No time like the present.'_  The Russian thought as he stood up, letting the towel fall to the carpet. "Right."

_Hopefully, this is the first and last time I hurt you on purpose._

"Let's end this."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

... ** _THUD._**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In retrospect, Viktor supposed that he should have expected a repeat of the Cup of China, but when Yuuri fell over, tumbling against a chair and crashing with it onto the carpet without so much as a squeak, the man realized that it should have been the least of his predictions. He also should have known he'd drop all pretenses right away at any sign of Yuuri's discomfort, blinking as he stood by the divan, watching his student fall over in paralyzed horror, and opening his eyes with said student already in his arms, his knees painfully throbbing after they supposedly crashed onto the ground. "Yuuri!!!"

The man in his arms began to wail, grabbing onto his bathrobe desperately as he buried his face into Viktor's chest.  _'Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshitohshit-'_ The Russian's brain spewed as panic overcame him, his carefully crafted plan squashed like an unsuspecting insect.

Which, to be painfully honest, was how Viktor was feeling at that moment.

 _'Damn it, damn it, damn it! This was NOT how I saw it go!'_ The man internally screamed, feeling his chest tighten as Yuuri held him tighter.  _You were supposed to confess everything, and then I would keep up the tough guy act for a bit longer and give you a talk about communication, and tell you how much I love you, and I love you so, so much, oh God, I love you so much-'_

Suddenly, there was silence.

Yuuri removed himself from his coach's chest, looking up red-faced and wide-eyed at him as tears ran down his cheeks. Viktor allowed himself to smile a little, seeing as the other man's eyes had dried up a bit, which really didn't explain the strangely recent wetness of his face. Slowly, Yuuri raised his hand, cupping his coach's face as a thumb brushed itself across his surprisingly damp cheek.

_Wait, what?_

"What are you doing, Yuuri?" He asked, taken aback by how wet and broken his voice had sounded. His throat was just fine, but a lump he never knew was there made its presence known, making it harder to swallow.

"I-I'm just a bit surprised to see you cry." The younger man admitted meekly, averting his eyes, to which Viktor automatically raised his empty palm to his cheek. With a wet laugh, Viktor held Yuuri's palm and pressed it against his lips.

"I'm mad, you know?" He whispered brokenly, despite his actions indicating that he felt otherwise, peppering the back of his student's hand with kisses.

The younger man offered him a sad, crooked smile- a not-so-flattering amalgamation of a grimace and a wail, really- before he pulled his hand away and removed himself from Viktor's lap. He, however, let his hand stay on the older man's lips.

Viktor nodded to him with a smile, saying nothing but waiting on him to speak. Yuuri gulped and wiped at his nose, looking his coach back in the eye, a new batch of tears escaping him.

"I-I'm ready to talk."

***

 _'How could you still smile so brightly?'_ Yuuri wondered as Viktor lowered his hand, pressing the shorter man's palm against his chest. "I haven't been the best student to you, nor the best partner." He continued, quelling the cry attempting to escape his lips. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to worry you, I'm fine, I'm fine."

Viktor closed his eyes and simply shook his head, the soft, small smile still on his lips. With a sigh, the shorter man continued. "I understand you want to end it with us, with how I've treated you, and despite all your efforts and your time, I am still not any closer to the podium, still not any nearer to getting a gold medal." He paused, trying to get rid of the croaking his voice started to make as the tears suffocated him.  _'God, my chest hurts so bad...'_ Yuuri thought as Viktor's tear-blurred image burned against the back of his mind. "So, I've decided that this will be my last season. I wouldn't have gotten here without your guidance. Thank you for everything you've done for me until now," And with an after thought, he added, "Coach Viktor."

As he bowed his head low, Yuuri heard his coach's signature dramatic sigh. Looking up, he didn't expect the man to appear as if he were holding in a laugh. With a quizzical expression, the Japanese skater straightened himself, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "Ah, I never thought Yuuri would be such a selfish person." The Russian drawled, and the skater would have almost gotten defensive, had Viktor's voice been any more broken than his. Gulping, the shorter man deemed to respond.

"Yes, I've made this decision on my own."

Viktor sighed once more, making the other man bite his lip as anxiety bubbled in his stomach. When his coach didn't appear to want to say anything yet, Yuuri continued. "I-I was thinking that we'd only be together until the Grand Prix Final, after all."

Yuuri's eyebrow twitched when he noticed Viktor visibly holding back on rolling his eyes. "I thought you'd need my help more." Was all he said, as if the silver-haired man was baiting his temper.

The dark-haired skater felt cornered, as if his coach had caught his bluff.  _'I need to tell him,'_ He berated himself, forcing his eyes to meet Viktor's soft blues. "Besides, d-don't you think it's time you went back on the ice?"

That time, Viktor could no longer keep his exasperated sigh in, which proved to be a strange look on him: tear-stained and irked.

"First of all, how could you ask me to return when you yourself are leaving?" The man growled lowly as he grasped Yuuri's hand tighter. "Second of all, Yuuri,  _solnyshko_ , do you plan on killing this poor fool?"

"I-I don't understand-"

"No you don't; not yet, at least." Viktor cut in, peeling off the right half of his bathrobe and revealing the perpetually shining Polaris embraced by a laurel crown.

_Show me your mark._

The silver-haired man didn't need to say it out loud, and Yuuri knew that he was-  _had been for some time-_  already found out. With jelly legs and a shaking hand, the shorter man propped himself up on his knees, pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants and revealing the constant pair of  _kizuna engo_ on his hips. Soft and airily, Yuuri pleaded, "Please."

Nodding, Viktor reached out his empty hand and rubbed his thumb against the patch on Yuuri's right hip, slowly peeling it off to reveal a familiar black laurel crown embracing a less easily recognizable Polaris, horribly disfigured with all the ugly missing flakes of gold.

_I'm sorry._

Apologies started spewing out of his mouth as he keeled over, his head hitting Viktor's chest as the other man caught him in a tight hug. Yuuri could no longer distinguish if he was speaking in English or Japanese, but with how garbled his words were through all the bawling he was doing, Viktor would not have understood him anyway.

Yuuri desperately tried to grasp at all the memories he'd made with Viktor, how in less than a year after his biggest downfall, he'd found all his dreams coming true one by one, at the expense of the one he was never supposed to keep.

Viktor was supposed to be pushing him away in disgust, and yet he'd encased Yuuri in his arms tightly, rubbing his back.

Viktor was supposed to be yelling at him, calling him a fraud and all the painful names he deserved, but there he was, whispering Russian pet names into his ears, soothing him.

Viktor was supposed to regret ever meeting him, regret falling for him, tell him that he hated him, but-

**_Aishiteru yo,_ _Yuuri._ **

Yuuri instantly looked up, almost unable to catch what his coach said, with how thick Viktor's accent had wrapped around the Japanese word. It was suddenly cold and warm, and the younger man almost felt feverish and dizzy as his eyes dried and widened the bigger Viktor's smile became. "I-I don't understand... Viktor, I'm not your match." He managed to say before he was enveloped in the arms of the Russian. "W-why? Why are you not angry at me? Why are you not pushing me away?"

"Why would I want to push you away when all I've ever done is chase you?!"

Viktor pulled away, only to press his forehead against his, eyes closed and eyebrows scrunched. "Thank you for being honest with me." He whispered, his fringe tickling Yuuri's nose. "This does not change how I feel about you, Yuuri; even without the mark, you are still my darling  _solnyshko_ , the sun of my life, the guiding star of my night. Please, I'm begging you, let me spend a lifetime showing you that you  _are_ worth all the love in the world."

The man stared at him with tired and trying eyes, breath baited as he awaited Yuuri's response. The Japanese man simply knelt there, swimming confusion and  _what did I do to deserve this?_

"B-but, your soulmate, we don't have the same marks, your match-"

"-Is right here in front of me." Viktor interrupted, a soft smile on his already chapped lips. "I know,  _lyubov moya_ , I know that you have a different mark. I hope  _you_ know that it will never,  _never_ make me think of you any less, it will never make me stop loving you."

So many questions spawned by self-doubt barraged Yuuri's brain, but before any could escape him, Viktor had already pushed them back with a soft index finger against his lips. "You're thinking so loudly that you don't need to speak for me to hear you." The silver-haired man chuckled. "But that's okay; you're allowed your questions, you're allowed to wonder."

"But I don't deserve this!" Yuuri blurted out, pink-cheeked and red-nosed. "Someone out there is waiting for you, with the same mark, and they will love more more purely than I ever had."

Viktor gave him a pointed look. "I could say the same for you, and yet against all odds, you went against fate and gave me the honors of being chosen by you."

"What if your soulmate comes for you?"

"They have, in the form of a drunk Japanese man who breathed life into me, only to toss me aside after forgetting the best night of my life."

"I'm not-"

" ** _You are_** ," Viktor stressed. "And if someone comes to claim you or me as their own, they will have to go over my drop-dead  _gorgeous_ body."

Despite himself, Yuuri couldn't help a wet chuckle, leaning into the crook of Viktor's neck as the chuckle evolved into a full blown laugh.  _'What on earth did I ever do to deserve you?'_ The shorter man thought, his coach's arms encircling him gently as he leaned onto the bed frame, the two men holding each other in silence.

***

It felt like hours since they moved, but the Japanese man was a welcome and soothing weight on the other's lap, neither of them speaking lest they break the fragile peace they enjoyed. Until Viktor could no longer hold himself back.

"Hey Yuuri?"

Yuuri's answer came in a garbled mess spoken through the fluffy fabric of Viktor's bathrobe. For some reason, the silver-haired man understood him just fine.

"You still need to get Gold tomorrow, or else we can't get married."

Another groan vibrated against the cloth on his shoulder.

"Oh, and I made some changes to your exhibition skate, if you don't mind."

The grunt that followed was a bit more alarmed.

"And we kinda need to fly to Paris too, Chris will have our heads if we miss his wedding- damn, I still haven't written my Man of Honor speech."

Viktor didn't even let Yuuri dignify his rambling with a groan when he moved onto the next topic.

"And then we have Nationals too! I totally, totally have my work cut out for me. We should establish the payment scheme for your coaching fee. Hey, Yuuri, are you all right with mmppfff-"

With tired eyes, Yuuri pulled away from Viktor's lips, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Hey Viktor?"

"Yes,  _solnyshko_?"

"I can't get Gold tomorrow if you won't let me sleep."

Viktor simply laughed and pressed a kiss on Yuuri's forehead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Hey Yuuri? Thank you for choosing me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst ends here *gasp*. :)
> 
> There will be one last chapter to conclude this fic (after half a year omg!!!!), so please stay with me until the end! <3
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! <3 <3 <3


	31. Let's Leave Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor are ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Sorry for bumping the story back up, but I had to edit one word that was mistakenly in female voice (Thanks Alice!). Also, I would just like to inform any reader who's interested in what happens between Mari and Yuuri, that since I wasn't able to find a place for their relationship to be mended, I'm going to post a separate one shot for it :D It will be in the same universe, and will be posted in the following week or so.
> 
> Again, thank you!!! :D
> 
> So I'd like to get between you and the last chapter for a bit so that I may grossly express my gratitude to all of you for sticking with this story for the past months. I feel the need to tell you all that this is the longest story I've ever written so far, fanfic or not, and even I couldn't believe it that I was able to commit to it. 8 out of 10 stories I usually lose interest and leave it pending forever, but Yuri!!! On ICE has always been known to break barriers and make miracles.
> 
> I also greatly attribute my immunity to the dreaded hiatus disease to all of you, readers, who not only show me your interest through Hits, but also through your Comments and Kudos. I've only ever met one of you in real life, but I felt like I've already known dozens of brilliant minds who were able to bring this story to fruition.
> 
> Thank you, all of you. I hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I'm grateful you made time in your schedules to read the 140,000++ words of this story.
> 
> Now, onto the final chapter!

"Viktor Nikiforov, has anybody ever told you that you are hopelessly, irrevocably  _ **insane**_?"

The silver-haired Russian grinned at his Japanese lover blindingly, the lights above the ice all too bright that it appeared as if he were glowing with the fire of a million suns.

Yuuri nearly snorted at how _extra_ his thoughts sounded. Viktor never needed to know.

"Why, Yuuri, you wound me!" Viktor drawled as he waved at the audience, one arm around the shorter man. As their hips bumped with how close the taller man pulled them together, Yuuri couldn't help but card his fingers through the hair on the back of his partner's head. Viktor only smirked. "You act as if you didn't perform this at the Cup of China gala!"

"From what I remember, there was only one singer and only one skater when I performed." Yuuri said pointedly, still unable to remove the smile on his face. "When did you even find the time to have the duet  _and_ that costume made?!"

"My composer actually made two arrangements of Stammi Vicino so that I had something to choose from, and for your information, this silver and lavender coat is the original! The fuchsia and gold one was much, much better alone, though." Viktor laughed, taking Yuuri's hand as he led them to the rink exit. "Besides, my signature is to always surprise the audience; I just got lucky that we've played around with the ice dance choreography during your off hours."

At that, the shorter man let out a less than dignified guffaw.  _'No, Viktor; I believe it was I who got lucky.'_ He thought as he gazed at the other man fondly, squinting slightly as his eyes caught the light reflected onto the gems on Viktor's coat. "I can't believe you actually were able to lift me twice."  _That's a lie; you've been lifting me up from the moment I saw you on television._

Viktor stuck out his lower lip, the peach gloss Minako had all but forced him to wear still vibrant, a petulant pout oddly fitting his partner's blemish-free face. "Are you jabbing at my age again,  _solnyshko_? Why, if you still doubt me, I can definitely carry your thighs on my arms while we mmmphhff-"

"S-shut up!" Yuuri stammered as his face colored a dangerous shade of red as his eyes flitted from side to side, the glove on his hand absorbing the gloss on Viktor's mouth. "God, you're such a pervert!"

The older man simply removed the Japanese skater's hand from his lips with a flourish. "Wow, I was only going to suggest an arabesque press lift; you surprise me with your gutter-dwelling thoughts, my Yuuri." As he leaned nearer to Yuuri's ear, Viktor lowered the tone of his voice, words coming out of his lips as barely a whisper. "I  _can_ make that lifting fantasy of yours come true, if you let me."

A microphone was shoved into their faces before Yuuri could even dignify Viktor's innuendos with a tongue lashing.

"Incredible piece, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki!" The brunette reporter with a French accent congratulated, smiling at them both with a touch of familiarity on his lips as he addressed Yuuri. "I must say, your coach must have rubbed off of on you quite well, Mr. Katsuki; not only did the music change from an aria to a duetto, you've even transformed Stammi Vicino's program into a stunning ice dance. A few words about your performance?"

"Oh, thank you, erm, I'm glad it was received quite well." Yuuri stammered trying to jog his mind for the reporter's name. The man was definitely familiar, most probably a veteran sportscaster, but for the life of him, the Japanese skater could not recall his name. "Actually, I've fallen victim to Viktor's surprise too. We've messed around with this choreography a few times, nothing serious, so when he came out on the ice in a matching costume... let's say I was lucky I didn't fall over."

The man in question even had the gall to shoot a wink at the camera, before slinging his arm over Yuuri's shoulder. "As I always say, we must continue to surprise our audience." Viktor added, looking down at Yuuri fondly. "Don't you think this is the perfect way to announce my comeback, Stéphane?"

"As to be expected of no one less than you, Viktor."

***

"Yuuri, how many flutes of champagne should I get you?"

"V- _ **Viktor**_!"

***

Yuuri, despite all his reservations, found himself standing on the gala hall balcony, a flute of champagne in hand.  _'At least out here, I won't be tempted to take flute after flute of champagne,'_ He mused, taking a shy sip. He could no longer remember how good the champagne was in Sochi, but the Japanese man had to admit that the one he was currently nursing was no less than exquisite, the clear, golden liquid reflecting the moon and stars perfectly. As he admired the color, Yuuri smiled to himself. "Next time, I'll surely get Gold." He whispered like a wish, chuckling as he felt the weight of an absent silver medal around his neck.

"Yuuri?"

Turning around, Yuuri smiled as Phichit approached him, frowning just the slightest bit as he noted one empty flute in one of his friend's hand, and a definitely full bottle of champagne in the other. "I swear, Phichit, if Viktor or Chris put you up to this," He laughed, the Thai joining him almost immediately with less than innocent cackles.

"Relax, Yuuri; this isn't alcoholic." The shorter man drawled, handing the green and gold bottle to his friend for inspection. "I grabbed it from the table the moment I saw the waiters serving this to Russian Yuri and the Juniors."

Yuuri shot him a playfully pointed look. "If this has even an ounce of alcohol in it, Phichit, I swear, I'm never trusting you again."

"Empty threat, but I swear on my hamsters nonetheless."

Nodding to his friend, Yuuri handed Phichit the bottle. "Care to do me the honors?"

"You bet!"

The bottle was out of his hands in one count, and a spray of amber-colored liquid following a distinct  _pop_ startled Yuuri a good two steps from Phichit. The Thai snorted as he grabbed his flute, pouring a generous amount before holding the bottle out to the Japanese skater. Yuuri relented, downing the remainder of his champagne, his flute refilling with a nearly-identical drink.

"May I join you here?" The Thai asked as he took his place beside Yuuri, leaning on the balcony as he gazed at the Barcelona night. A snort left the older man's nose, earning him a raised eyebrow from Phichit.

" _Now_ you ask that."

"Oh, hush; I just asked so it'll be like in the movies."

Yuuri rolled his eyes, but kept quiet as he smiled at his best friend. Phichit rolled the drink inside his flute (spilling some, because apparently it was too narrow and he was too vigorous), eyebrows meeting as he appeared to be thinking of words to say. The Japanese man simply observed him, silently enjoying the slightly troubled expression the Thai was currently sporting. Only when he turned away did Phichit begin to talk.

"Uh, Yuuri?"

"Yeah?"

The younger man continued twirling his flute, more carefully, searching for his reflection in the bubbly gold. Yuuri almost forgot that Phichit was only twenty years old, not even done with university yet, just at the cusp of his Senior Division skating career, still figuring his life out as much as Yuuri had when he was his age. It hit him that it was the first time in almost a year that he'd been able to look Phichit in the face without any feelings of shame. "It's been quite a while, huh?" The older man began, hoping to alleviate the Thai skater of any stress he might have felt trying to crack down the wall Yuuri had put up.

Nodding with an excited smile, Phichit laughed. "It felt like  _centuries_." He said with a drawn out sigh, before turning to Yuuri with a softer expression, his lips barely a smile as he spoke. "I'm sorry if you felt that you couldn't speak to me about it."

Yuuri only shook his head. "Don't apologize, okay?" He said gently, mirroring the rolling motion his friend kept on doing with the flute. "I'm sorry about worrying you, worrying anybody who found out and got dragged into the whole mess." His laugh felt tired, but in no way forced, as if he were retelling an old story he'd been rather fond of for the millionth time. Yuuri decided it felt good, being able to look back and seeing memories he'd treasure forever instead of things he'd rather forget.

A familiar boisterous laughter bellowed from inside, followed by a distinct string of angry curses as JJ and Yuri came into view from the balcony entrance. Isabella stood in the background with Otabek, both of them grinning behind their hands as their soulmates exchanged a (one-sided) heated banter. The young blonde appeared as if he were about to pop a vein, but everyone knew better: Yuri was having fun,  _even_ with JJ in the mix, and if he were to be dishonest about it, none of them would take it against him. He was still young, after all, still figuring out how love and friendship worked, how pure happiness, sadness, and anger all brought people to tears because there is only ever one set of heartstrings to tug on.

"Bitch, you are signing yourself onto a death sentence by marrying this bastard!" Yuri growled at Isabella, to which the Korean only laughed louder, causing the boy's usually pale face turn multiple shades of red. Otabek had, admirably, kept his face from cracking into an undignified guffaw, but the way his shoulders shook ever so slightly, Yuuri knew that it won't be long until Yuri questioned their friendship (relationship?).

"Lucky, those four." Phichit sighed dreamily as he upended his flute into his mouth, turning to his friend with a knowing smile. The Japanese man nodded, hiding a chuckle behind his glass as Mila suddenly swooped into the middle of Yuri and JJ's play fight, heaving the shrieking Russian boy over her head with enviable ease. At the back of his mind, Yuuri wondered where Yakov was in all of this, considering two of his prized skaters were wreaking havoc in the middle of the banquet.

 _'Again.'_ Yuuri added as an afterthought. Turning to Phichit, the dark-haired skater leaned against the balcony as they observed the Westerners' commotion from their safe distance. "Yeah, I can't be any happier for them." He said, looking of to the sky. The stars were barely visible, with how many bright lights and signs emanated from the city, but they were there; Yuuri smiled as he spotted what appeared to be the North Star. He had next to zero knowledge of constellations and astronomy, but he'd been told once to look for the brightest star he could find in the night sky, and that was probably it. "I'm happy."

Phichit's eyes widened with his smile as those words escaped Yuuri's lips, feeling a certain warmth against his eyelids as he blinked away (happy) tears while looking up. "That's all I ever wanted for you." The Thai whispered back, slinging his arm over his friend's shoulder. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, the shorter skater spoke once more. "You know, after everything that's been said and done, I can't help but believe that you and Viktor have been soulmates all along."

Yuuri cocked his head towards his friend, the lip of his flute against his chin. "I don't doubt that, not anymore," He responded, absently touching his right hip. He'd already rubbed off the remaining dull flecks of gold, but the black outline of the Polaris embraced by a black laurel crown remained, a stark difference against his fair skin. In passing, Yuuri had thought of getting the tattoo removed, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to.

Not yet, at least.

"Did you know about Ketty's mark?" He asked all of a sudden, catching Phichit off guard. The Thai, to his credit, didn't miss a beat before he answered.

"Yeah, I saw it when we talked after you asked me to look for her." The man responded, pressing a finger to his lip in such a way that reminded Yuuri of Viktor. "She stopped hiding it after she got engaged; I think part of her wanted her match to find her right away and know her decision; but at the same time, she probably didn't mind the world knowing her mark because she was confident in the love she had with Ben."

"I'm glad she's my match," Yuuri found himself saying. Phichit said no more, but their companionable silence spoke volumes of his agreement.

_'Me too, Yuuri.'_

***

"No, Pork Cutlet Bowl, you can't see Viktor before the wedding."

Yuuri pouted, and Yuri wondered how much the silver-haired skater had rubbed off on him. "Yurio, you can't be serious about that." He whined, and the blonde had to grit his teeth to prevent his jaw from hitting the floor. Katsuki Yuuri?  _Whining?!_

The boy prepared a mental note to detoxify the Japanese man from Viktor Nikiforov's dramatics for a _week_  the first moment he could. "No means no, Pig!" He growled, standing his ground in front of the dressing room. Rapid Russian could be heard from the other side of the door, Georgi and Mila's voices starkly distinct from Viktor's, with Yakov's and Lilia's punctuating the incorrigible conversation every now and then. Turning back to Yuri, the Japanese man tried pushing one last time. "If they're all in there, how come you're out here?"

A vein visibly throbbed against the boy's temple, and Yuuri decided that he'd taken from Yakov more than Viktor ever could.

"Because,  _asshole_ , I'm trying to make sure nosy pigs like you don't come prancing inside!" Yuri all but shouted, voice breaking, to which Yuuri couldn't help but laugh. " **HEY**! I will seriously end you."

"I'm sorry!" The older man laughed, earning a halfhearted shove from Yuri.

"You're not seeing him before the wedding and that's final, Pork Cutlet Bowl!" The boy bellowed (croaked), but with how Yuri had not hit his growth spurt yet and how his voice rose a few octaves higher than his throat could accommodate, Yuuri found it very hard to be intimidated. Seeing as how the Russian was not moving any time soon, however, the Japanese man thought it wiser to concede. He had been on the brunt of the boy's rather violent tantrums, and he'd rather not be a moving target once more, at least not on such a special day.

Just before he could leave, however, Mila popped out from behind the blonde, startling both Yu(u)ris. "Yuuri! I was just thinking about you! Come, I'll go fix your tie." She said cheerfully, but wrinkled her nose at the end of her sentence. "Viktor was right, that tie  _is_ horrible."

Without giving him a chance to speak, the redhead at dragged him away from the seething blonde, into a vacant dressing room.

"Is my tie really  _that_ ugly?" Yuuri found himself saying as he sat down in front of a vanity table. Mila gave him one pointed look through the mirror, and the Japanese skater didn't need an answer from her. Sighing to himself, he began unraveling the tie. "All right, all right,"

"Don't be so down, Yuuri," Mila laughed, taking out a box from nowhere ( _'Where did she hide that?!'_ Yuuri thought as he watched the palm-sized item from the mirror) and revealing a sleek white necktie with an intricate weave that reminded him of the expensive-looking lace around his GPF silver medal. "This is a limited edition silk tie from Stephano Richie, I actually can't believe Viktor was able to snag this so last minute!"

"This probably cost a fortune!" Yuuri whined once more as Mila leaned onto him, pushing up his collar and lacing the soft material around his neck.

"Oh, hush," Mila chuckled as she looped the tie with practiced ease. "If he can afford to, I don't see why Viktor would skip out on getting the finest things for you. Believe me when I say this, Yuuri: you'd have to shop until you drop at Okhotny Ryad every week for the next twenty years to bring him to middle class."

Yuuri didn't know what Okhotny Ryad was, but he wasn't about to pry into Viktor's paycheck. His palm immediately flew into his face. "Oh my God." He muttered, earning a squeak from Mila.

"What's wrong, Yuuri?"

"The coaching fees!" The Japanese man blurted out, trying to calculate approximately how much he owed Viktor, tripling Celestino's fee and using that as a baseline. Looking dejectedly at Mila, the dark-haired man asked, "Do you think they'd still let me compete with only one kidney?"

He earned a light rap on the head from the Russian.

"Don't be silly, Viktor won't bill you. He's probably forgotten about that anyway." She said as if she were speaking to a child, dismissing him and returning to the task at hand. Yuuri decided to stay quiet as Mila looped the expensive material into a full Windsor, allowing himself to admire how well the tie had complemented his suit. "There, much better than that ratty baby blue you always wear!"

Yuuri couldn't even bring himself to pout, not when he agreed with her one hundred percent.

"Just one more thing to finish the look!" The redhead said as she brought out another, albeit smaller, box from nowhere. Yuuri supposed it was in his best interests not to ask, burying his questions into the back of his mind as Mila produced a gleaming, golden tie clip in a donut shape. Snapping it onto the white tie securely, the woman stood back and admired her work. " _Krasivyi_."

"What?"

Mila giggled and grabbed him by the hand, pulling the Japanese man up. "Oh, nothing; Viktor would melt at the sight of you."

"It's just a tie..."

The woman didn't dignify him with a response, simply dragging him out of the room and to the ceremony hall. Yuuri tried to spy a glance at Viktor's dressing room, but found the door ajar and the room visibly empty. The man mentally slapped himself.  _'Of course they sent Mila to distract me.'_ He laughed internally, and just allowed himself to be brought to the hall.

Music played softly in the background, a subtle marriage of violin and piano that eased Yuuri's mind as he took in the soft hues of white and yellow flowers that lined the gold carpet aisle. Row after row of guests on Tiffany chairs of the same motif sandwiched the aisle, finishing the aesthetically pleasing arrangement that answered any question Yuuri might have had regarding the impromptu change of his necktie.  _'Yup, would have definitely looked hideous.'_ He admitted, standing outside the doors. Mila was suddenly nowhere to be found, but the Japanese man was soon joined by Georgi and and Phichit, both sporting woven gold ties with white donut-shaped tie clips.

"Here you go," Phichit chirped as he handed Yuuri a bouquet of sun-touched white roses. "Hand this to Viktor when you see him, will you?"

"I'm not supposed to see him before the wedding, Yuri said." The Japanese man pointed out. Georgi just rolled his eyes.

***

As Chris and Lysandre shared their first kiss as husbands, Yuuri wiped away a stray tear, shooting a glance at Viktor, who'd stood beside his best friend, the proudest Man of Honor he'd ever seen. A blush bloomed on the shorter man's cheeks as he caught his lover already staring at him. For some reason, Viktor appeared both happy and restless, spinning the ring Yuuri gave him around his finger continuously as he bit his lower lip every five seconds or so.

"What's wrong with Viktor?" Yuuri whispered to Yuri, who was sitting behind him. The boy scoffed.

"Beats me, might be constipated or something."

Yuuri and Phichit suppressed a laugh, turning back to the fidgety, silver-haired Man of Honor.

"We'd like to have your attention please." Chris said, standing in front of the entire ceremony hall as he held out the bouquet up for everyone to see. Yuuri noted that it was the bouquet Phichit had erroneously asked him to give to Viktor ("I'm sorry, Yuuri! I meant Chris! Chris!"). The Russian visibly blanched the moment Yuuri handed him the bouquet, grabbing it with less care than the poor flowers deserved before excusing himself to find Chris. "I know that the bouquet toss is usually done during the reception, but Sandre and I would like to mix it up a bit, get to know the next lucky bride or groom before we start clinking our glasses later."

The Swiss skater pecked his husband's cheek before motioning all single men and women to stand in front of him, Yuuri, as confused as he were, finding himself right in front of the blonde groom. "Phichit, what are you doing?" He whispered through gritted teeth as his friend continued nudging against him to keep him in the middle.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing!" The Thai quipped, keeping his hands against the Japanese skater's back. "Just stand still!"

Doubting his friend's covert intentions but too caught up in the crowd to fight him, Yuuri stopped resisting and reluctantly faced forward and smiled at Chris.

The Swiss simply winked back and blew him a kiss. "All right, settle down people!" Chris called, looking around at everyone in the semicircle they formed. With a raised eyebrow, the Japanese man noted that everyone around him were fellow skaters, all of whom had expressions too excited for a bouquet toss.  _'I never knew you guys were so superstitious,'_ He thought as he tried to search for a familiar Russian among the throes.  _'Didn't know you all wanted to get married soon too, either.'_

Before he could worry about his lover's whereabouts, Lysandre took his place beside his husband, kissing the side of Chris' head as he wrapped one arm around him. "All right," He began, and Yuuri wondered why he was looking at him so intently, making the Japanese man's clasped hands sweat. "You may be familiar with this tradition, but for those who aren't, here's what's going to go down. Chris will turn around and toss the bouquet, and the person who catches it will have the good fortune to be next in line to be married!"

The people around him cheered, Phichit a little bit too enthusiastically, and Yuuri couldn't help but feel his heart thump a little more strongly as his damp hands went cold with nervousness. Shoulders and elbows rubbed and poked him in places, and despite the good ventilation in the hall, Yuuri felt slightly short of breath. "What's going on?" He whispered to Phichit again, but the Thai ignored him in favor of letting out a whistle. "Phichit!"

"Okay, settle down!" Chris ordered with a wink before he turned around, raising his bouquet as if it were a trophy. The music and cheering stopped instantly, the pumping of blood nearly deafening as Yuuri felt his heart bang against his rib cage violently.

 _'Calm down, you know these people, breathe slowly, breathe slowly,'_ Yuuri chanted to himself, willing away a panic attack as he tried to find solace in soft blue eyes  _he couldn't seem to find_.  _'Where the heck is Viktor?!'_

Preoccupying himself with Chris, Yuuri gulped as he watched the Swiss bring down the bouquet, arms shooting up as if to launch the flowers backwards. Gasps filled the room, followed shortly by a rumble of laughter when the bouquet stayed firmly grasped in Chris' hands. Yuuri couldn't share their amusement, however, a heavy pressure building up in the pit of his stomach.  _'It's just a bouquet toss, for crying out loud! Calm down!'_ He scolded himself, smiling nervously at Chris as he eyed them playfully. "Just kidding! Next is the real deal, so here we go!" The Swiss announced, turning around once more and raising the bouquet.

"Let's help Chris out and do a count down!" Lysandre suddenly piped up, and Yuuri couldn't help but question how  _easily_ everyone fell in to accommodate the couple's impromptu antics. He didn't have too much time to wonder as the skaters around him began to count.

"Ten!"

 _'Where is Viktor? Could he actually have been constipated?!'_ Yuuri wondered, a small smile forming on his lips.

"Nine!"

He really thought it mean of him to laugh at his lover's supposed predicament, but it definitely helped with the unjustifiable worry brewing within him.

"Eight!"

Yuuri laughed to himself. He could always apologize later.

"Seven!"

The Japanese man stared intently at Chris, the Swiss skater still as stone, his beautiful white tuxedo hugging his figure magnificently that he appeared to be a marble sculpture topped with gold. Yuuri smiled to himself, noting how beautiful Chris had looked, radiating with unbridled happiness as he walked down the aisle with Josef, reaching out his hand to his husband and Lysandre taking it excitedly in his.

"Six!"

 _'Next time, I'll win Gold for sure.'_ Yuuri thought, determination overflowing from the thought of him and Viktor standing in front of all their friends and family.

"Five!"

 _'I'll have a gold medal around my neck, and we'll get married.'_ The man dreamed giddily, feeling like a schoolgirl watching her favorite soap opera.

"Four!"

The arms and elbows around him suddenly moved, but Yuuri was too focused on Chris to mind.  _'Everyone really is out to get that bouquet,'_ He thought to himself, wondering if he should put effort to get it too.  _'If Viktor were he'd probably want to get them himself.'_

"Three!"

 _'What bad timing, Vitya.'_ Yuuri thought apologetically as he unclasped his hands, ready to reach for the bouquet the moment it came flying anywhere near him.

"Two!"

Chris suddenly peeked at him, so quickly that Yuuri wondered why he didn't get whiplash. The man smiled mischievously at him, running his tongue over his lips as he raised the bouquet with his right hand and-

"One!"

By instinct, Yuuri closed his eyes as a considerably strong, pleasantly-scented force flew towards him, hitting him square in the stomach. Also by instinct, the man reached his hands to secure the unlikely projectile to his torso, feeling a mix of leaves, petals and ribbons against his palms. Cheering erupted from  _everywhere_ , and two thoughts ran through Yuuri's mind before he decided to open his eyes.

One, Chris could throw  _one hell of a curve ball_ , and two, he had the bouquet in his hands.

As he adjusted to the light and cacophony of ovations from his fellow skaters, Yuuri caught sight of something silver just below the flowered border of his peripheral vision. The confused Japanese man only planned to move the bouquet away as he looked down, but ended up dropping it entirely and taking a step back.

Viktor gazed at him with all the stars in his eyes as he knelt on one knee, hands brandishing a beautiful black velvet box. Tears began streaming from Yuuri's eyes as he took note of the cluster of diamonds in the shape of a snowflake on a gold ring molded into a laurel crown. If the cheering had continued, the shorter man didn't notice, confusion, happiness and disbelief momentarily deafening him as he grabbed the tattered bunch of roses from the ground and stuffed his face into the bouquet.

The man on the floor chuckled to himself and looked at his lover tenderly, patiently holding up the ring box. " _Solnyshko_ , I'm sorry I've acted strangely today," Viktor began, voice deep and gentle. "I was too excited and I'm afraid that if I spent more than a minute with you, this would be the very first surprise I would not be able to pull off."

Yuuri mumbled-cried in response, and the Russian cocked his head to the side. "Can you repeat that, Yuuri? I can't understand you through the flowers-"

"-I don't have a gold medal yet."

Viktor raised his eyebrow as he stood up, gingerly pushing the bouquet from Yuuri's face as he held the ring box firmly in one hand. "Oh? I could swear you're wearing one now." He whispered, taking the Japanese man's tie in his free hand and letting the circular tie clip glint under the hall lights.

"That's cheating!" Yuuri accused, but wrapped his arms around the taller man nonetheless. Viktor chuckled as he mirrored the Japanese skater's actions. There were tons of camera clicks and flashes, but the Russian couldn't care less about what outrageous click bait articles would plague Facebook for the coming days; after all, he could always apologize later.

"No it's not; you won the gold medal to my heart. I think that has to count for something, don't you agree?"

As Yuuri pulled away and let Viktor slip the jewelry onto his left ring finger, a burst of applause and shouts rang across the hall, followed by strings of congratulations and more camera flashes. "This was one heck of a surprise." Yuuri whispered to his now fiancé, earning a soft kiss on the top of his head.

"And I'll keep on surprising you from this day forward, for the rest of our forever." Viktor whispered back, pressing another kiss against Yuuri's hair.

On his finger, a testament of their love, the golden laurel band glimmered unmatched as it embraced the lustrous diamond snowflake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up this story! I can't believe it's done, to be perfectly honest. For the past seven months, writing chapters nearly everyday had been incorporated into my daily life that I feel I will miss updating this story like a phantom limb. I probably would go back to lurking around AO3 on the Y!!!oI tag for the mean time. XDD
> 
> SEE YOU NEXT LEVEL!!! (I don't own this line XDD)
> 
>  
> 
> Notes:  
> http://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/beautiful-french-words/  
> Okay, I totally cheated with the French XD  
> Very bad and very lazy product censoring (Stephano Richie) XDDD  
> Krasivyi - beautiful (corrected by Alice. Thank you!!!)  
> The proposal scene is inspired by this GIF: http://s2.r29static.com//bin/entry/474/x/1690777/image.gif  
> I saw it on Facebook and I was like "PERFECT!!!"

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt from Tumblr the other day. I'll link to it on a later chapter (hopefully Q_Q) to avoid any spoilers, I guess?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. c(^o^)b
> 
> PS: Unbeta'd, so feel free to point out some mistakes <3


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